


Dark Water

by Delphinapterus



Category: House MD
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-30
Updated: 2008-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphinapterus/pseuds/Delphinapterus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Wilson has to do a freebie because of a mix up with a race horse. House is just getting back into the game and Cuddy finds both these ghosts from the past showing up at the same time. Things get complicated with two FBI agents are thrown into the mix and Chase finally gets a solo hit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Shay and Oldblue for beta and hand holding. Savemoony deserves the credit for telling me I could do it and for putting up with my rambling about this for months.
> 
> [](http://house-bigbang.dreamwidth.org/13621.html)  
> by [](http://thedeadparrot.livejournal.com/profile)[**thedeadparrot**](http://thedeadparrot.livejournal.com/)
> 
> [](http://house-bigbang.dreamwidth.org/13514.html)  
>  by [](http://leiascully.livejournal.com/profile)[**leiascully**](http://leiascully.livejournal.com/)

The weather is cool with a light hint of rain misting the air. It is a cold damp that seeps into the bones and leaves noses sniffly but not wet enough to require a tissue. It is not the sort of weather that people like to go out in.

The stones under his feet are slick with moisture and he knows that if he doesn't hurry the sky is going to open up into one of the season's bi-weekly downpours. He pulls the collar of his coat up and quickly crosses the street. It's a ritual for him to walk this way, to walk here and remember his past, remember when he had less than nothing. This is his city, his neighborhood. He is safe here because everyone knows him, knows about the gifts he passes out, the mortgages that get repaid and the hospital bills that never arrive. The children know him for the sweets in his pockets and the men who know him--really _know_ him--remember the baseball bat that whirled through the grass to connect with a soft skull at his birthday party the previous year.

J. Tanis Huffington is a short man. He's five feet at the most in dress shoes with lifts. When he walks down the staircase the railing runs parallel to his head blocking an easy shot. Something else will have to be done.

James Wilson, currently working as Denis Farmer, janitor and lover of sugar cereals, slides the loop through his hands and waits until Huffington passes in front of him. He launches himself forward and slips the noose over his mark's head. He pulls back using his body to help keep the mark still. The garrote is heavy in his hands as the mark struggles. Wilson holds tight, feeling the tension in his shoulders as he keep tightening the garrote. Finally, the man goes limp against him. It's too soon for death but he doesn't need that, doesn't need those angry ligature marks staining the man's throat, unconsciousness is all that is required for House's latest concoction to do its work.

Wilson jabs the syringe into the side of the man's neck and slowly depresses the plunger. It's tricky to keep the garrote at the right level of tightness while managing the syringe, but he's had enough practice to do it. As he depresses the plunger slowly, he counts inside his head. Under his fingers he can feel the man's heart slowing. Soon he will be dead and Wilson's bank account will be richer. House is going to be enthused that his latest mixture worked faster.

Back in his motel room he strips off his Denis costume. The blue contact lenses and finger print blocks are flushed down the toilet, while the blond wig and coveralls go into separate plastic bags. He flushes a gallon of bleach and wipes down the room. After he's burned the clothes it will be smooth sailing.

* * *

Craig Davidson's flight back to New Jersey goes off without a hitch. He is a big man with red hair and moss-green eyes. The customs agent gets to hear more than she wanted to about the architecture conference he was at in Italy and she waves him through without doing a spot search. Concealed in the lead-lined false bottom of his briefcase are six small vials of poison. He brushes off the airport greeters and doesn't go to the baggage claim. Instead he retrieves a green Mazda that was parked in long-term parking four hours earlier. The attendant doesn't notice that Craig Davidson, supposedly flying to Jamaica, has just picked up his car in the middle of his flight. The two FBI agents following him do, though.

They follow Craig in a circuitous route around the city until they lose him in downtown backstreets. Agent Foreman looks at his partner in disgust. This isn't the first time that Cameron has lost them a mark.

"Look, if you'd just let me drive this wouldn't have happened."

Cameron snorts. "Right, and crack us up again. I don't think so."

"How else was I supposed to stop him, huh?"

Cameron shrugs. "You didn't even know it was the right him. We'll go back to the office for now. There's no way we'll catch him again today."

* * *

Twenty blocks west of Cameron and Foreman, Davidson pulls into a warehouse loading bay. The door shuts behind him. Inside Davidson pulls off his wig and removes his contacts. James Wilson stuffs both into a bag and climbs out of the Mazda. It takes him eleven minutes and sixteen seconds to switch out the license plates and blow off the semi-permanent paint job. Brown-eyed Wilson drives a grey Mazda out of the opposite side of the warehouse. It's nice to have his eyes free from contacts once again.

Wilson's home base is a house just outside the city. He knows that it's silly, dangerous even, to think of it as home base because it makes him too attached, but he just can't resist. They've been here for almost eight years now and somehow it's starting to feel like house where he grew up. Even with his knowledge of the explosives planted around the place just as precaution, it still feels like home.

House would say he's being too much of a sentimentalist, but Wilson knows that even House would hate to leave his current lab, especially now that's he's recovered enough to use it again. He pushes that thought away. He knows if he thinks about it too much it will just unbalance his carefully constructed peace and he'll have to force himself back to terms with the incident all over again. He won't do that to himself, especially not now that House is aware enough to figure him out. House has enough issues of his own. Wilson knows he can't risk adding to them unless he wants House to pull away again.

He steps through the door. The house seems deserted except for the steady tick of a clock. It's late enough that he knows House will be in the lab. A quick stop to divest himself of briefcase and suit jacket proves to him that House has once again been living on peanut butter and not enough on real food. He makes a mental note to make sure House eats a decent meal as soon as possible. It will do his body no good if he starts going for the junk food again. On his way to the lab he tosses an empty jam jar into the garbage.

Wilson walks quietly down the stairs, pausing only to reset the trip wire after he has passed it. House is bent over a microscope. His white gloves are spotted with bright red blood.

"Experimenting?"

"You didn't surprise me. I knew as soon as you drove up." House slips the slide from under the microscope and puts it back in the box.

"You don't have dinner on the table," Wilson says mildly.

House strips off his gloves and walks over. He pulls Wilson into a hard kiss. He presses his tongue against Wilson's lips until they part so he can thrust inside. Slip his tongue in and taste Wilson. Wilson pushes back, his tongue sliding against House's. He tastes like peanuts and coffee. House pulls back to nip gently at Wilson's lower lip.

"I saw it on the news."

"It worked just like you said--untraceable heart attack."

"Almost untraceable. You got a little sloppy with the garrote. Did you lose faith in my abilities?"

Thin ice now. "No. Just needed him to stop fighting. I knew it would work."

"I think I deserve a reward for making it so perfect." House waggles his eyebrows.

"In the lab? All the toys are upstairs."

House leers. "I could get creative."

"Maybe later."

Wilson turns without waiting for an answer, secure in the knowledge that House will come after him. House catches him on the stairs and presses him back against the wall. He slides one hand down to cup Wilson's growing erection and chuckles.

"You're horny."

"It's been twelve days."

House kisses Wilson quickly, just a brush against his lips. "I was going to hire a hooker soon."

Wilson pokes him not so gently in the side.

House grins at him. "Don't worry. No hooker can match your need for me. I can feel how hard you are, how much you want me."

Wilson pulls away and moves into the corridor. "Me? You're practically begging for it."

House laughs and pulls at his shirt.

* * *

Wilson is stretched out on the bed when House finally arrives. He watches Wilson from the doorway, admiring the flex of Wilson's arms as he strokes himself. He drops clothes carelessly around him as he makes his way over, while Wilson pretends to ignore him. House drops onto the bed with enough force to jar Wilson's movements. He looks pointedly at Wilson's hand still stroking along his shaft. Wilson frowns at him.

"You used all the cherry lube," he says.

"Well, you weren't here. What did you expect me to use?"

"The non-flavored ones, House."

"Whatever."

Wilson pushes House backwards until he can straddle him. "You're going to pay for not getting more. That was my favorite flavour."

He presses his cock against House's and grips both of their shafts. His hands are still slick as he fondles them. House grabs his head so he can pull Wilson in for another kiss. Wilson can feel stubble rasping against his jaw. House growls low in his throat as Wilson reaches up to pinch one of his nipples.

"Would you get on with it already?" Wilson complains.

Wilson feels one of House's fingers pressing against his hole and he shifts to give House better access. House presses a second finger into Wilson, making him whimper as he pushes back. He'd missed this, missed feeling another body against his. House is sliding his fingers gently in and out of Wilson's body, the lube making slick wet noises as he moves. Wilson fumbles a condom out of the drawer and rips the package open with his teeth. He nearly drops the condom as House slides a third finger into him. He gasps as House presses hard against his prostate and tries to focus on getting the condom rolled onto House's cock.

"Fuck me already."

House laughs but complies, pressing the head of his cock into Wilson's hole. He tries to push back, to take House deeper into his body, but House holds his hips, stilling him.

"Who's gagging for it now, huh?"

Wilson moans in frustration and House relents, sliding into him with one hard thrust. He can feel his body stretch and House stills. Wilson can feel the heavy weight of House's cock resting in him, stretching, pressing into him. He shudders and slides forward. House hums and starts thrusting again. Wilson reaches up to stroke his cock, smearing precome around the head. He can feel the stumps of House's missing fingers pressing into his hip.

The memory of how House's whole hand had felt gripping tight against his hip is still too fresh to be only a gentle remembrance. He wants to push it away, lock it up and never think of it again, but he can't. Not when he only has memories of those better times. Wilson knows he shouldn't wish for the feel of those fingers bruising his hip--shouldn't mourn that sensory loss--not when the loss is his fault.

His hand slip-slides then tightens over his cock. Suddenly, House changes the angle of his hips and slams into Wilson's prostate. He's thrusting into his fist and trying to push back onto House's cock at the same time, while House is panting and thrusting into him, gripping his hips hard. Wilson knows he'll have bruises. He comes as House slams into his prostate once more, feels his own semen spatter sticky-hot against his fingers. House makes a pleased gasp and Wilson can feel his cock twitch as he comes.

House slides his softening cock from Wilson's body and ties off the condom. "Now let's talk about my latest ingenious invention."

Wilson grins at him as he gets up from the bed to clean off. He's sweaty, sticky and hasn't had a chance to shower yet. Trust House to ignore that in favour of his poison.

"I'm getting cleaned up and then I'm going to sleep. Your invention was brilliant. You already know that."

House sticks his lower lip out. "Jimmy, don't tease me like that. You know how delicate my self-esteem is. One wrong word and you could end up with an ax murderer on the prowl."

"How is that a problem?"

"Wilson, I'm shocked that you'd want to live with Norman Bates."

"Oh well, in that case I'm going to take an extra long shower."

"I can feel my self-worth crumbling. Don't you feel ashamed? Hurting a poor man with only seven fingers? We cripples are delicate you know!"

"You're hardly crippled."

House harrumphs and switches tactics. "Didn't I just get you off? Don't I deserve to know now?"

"Wasn't that welcome back and reward sex for you?"

House makes the sound for a wrong answer. "No way that was strictly a welcome back. And it was mutual."

"Yes, but I'm tired. I had a long flight and now I want to clean up and sleep."

"If I change the sheets...?"

"I may die of shock."

"I'm not that bad."

Wilson pushes his hair off his face and shakes his head. House is still sprawled over the sheets, but carefully avoiding the damp patches. Wilson turns away and heads for the shower.

"I'll talk to you about it after breakfast tomorrow. Right now, all I'm going to do is wash and crash."

"Well, then I'm joining you. You might drown in there if you're that tired."

"Don't you dare try to start anything."

"Who me?" For someone so jaded, House does innocent amazingly well.

Wilson ignores House as he steps into the bathroom and concentrates on getting the temperature just the right side of boiling. He wonders if House is going to be able to coax more than a shared shower from him tonight. Probably. Judging from his earlier performance his leg isn't bothering him tonight.

Wilson forces himself to relax. It does his body no good to tense like that when he thinks of how mangled and broken House's leg was when he found him. If Wilson uses his jokes as a barometer, it looks like House is coping as well as he can. But those breaks are never going to stop aching, never going to heal any better than they are now. House is always going to have that slightly uneven gait, all because he couldn't figure it out sooner. Fuck it. Wilson ducks his head under the shower and tries to let the water's steady beat wash away his self-recriminations. House will join him soon and he needs to be relaxed.

* * *

Breakfast the next morning is exactly what Wilson was expecting. Even after he'd given two detailed explanations of the entire job from start to finish, House quizzes him in excruciating detail about everything.

"You really found a vibrator in her trash can?"

"This is relevant how?"

"Dude! His assistant had it in the garbage. Come on. You aren't just a little curious about why?"

"It wasn't relevant."

"You sound like Gilmar." House gave a theatrical shudder.

"She was crazy."

"Really, that's unkind. She was just differently-abled."

"House, she chased you through six countries because you got the contract she wanted."

"Well, it was a sweet one."

"As far as we know she's still holding a grudge. How could you ever think I'd be like that?"

House crunches his cereal thoughtfully. "You're right. I was being cruel. You'd never set out to avenge me."

"I didn't say that."

"I should go to Gilmar. I know she'd take care of any blood debts. You're too nice to do that sort of thing."

Wilson feels his oatmeal settle into an uncomfortable lump in his stomach. They don't talk about _that_ , they just don't. House couldn't have forgotten.

House flicks a blueberry at him while Wilson tries to decide if he ought to bring _that_ up and remind his apparently amnesiac partner. He tosses a lump of brown sugar in retaliation.

"I would burn them to the ground. You know that."

He tries to keep the hurt out of his voice and is pretty sure he's succeeded until House's eyes soften ever so slightly. Fuck. He was sure that he'd kept his voice even, but trust House to always be too perceptive.

House offers him a strawberry on his spoon. Wilson lets House slide the spoon into his mouth.

"I know you would, Wilson."

He feels his breakfast settle. House remembers. He knows. It's fucking nice to get some confirmation on that. He sucks gently at the strawberry, feels its seeds scrape against the roof of his mouth, and thinks that today is looking like a good day. Across from him, House is demolishing all the fruit on his cereal.

* * *

They take separate vehicles to work as always and, just like always, Wilson can't help wondering why House thinks that his orange death trap is an acceptable means of transportation. True, the flames painted just above the tail pipes are a work of art, but really, it's not very safe. He prefers a car with a good engine. It's steady, reliable, and no matter how much House mocks him for looking like an accountant, it doesn't stand out.

He's just crossing through the west end of town when he realizes that he has picked up a tail. It's more vexing, for reasons that he can't quite explain, to be tailed through his home base city. The point of being in Princeton-Plainsboro is specifically for its lack of note when it comes to all things extra-legal. They just didn't do tailing in New Jersey, because really everywhere else (expect maybe Minnesota) has bigger fish to fry. Except now somebody's tailing him.

It has to be a fluke. Maybe the last shreds of on-the-job paranoia making him see a tail. He watches. When the same SUV is still shadowing him forty blocks and many turns later, Wilson is absolutely convinced he has a tail.

A fucking tail in New Jersey! Where the hell are their priorities? He certainly doesn't merit a tail--after all, it's not like he's taking out old ladies and fire bombing convenience stores (well, except that one time and it hadn't done anything too terrible). The only good thing is that they don't appear to be working with anyone else. It was so much simpler to lose a tail if only a single vehicle was involved. He's already over an hour late and House is never going to let him live it down if it takes him another two hours to get there--tail or no tail. It would be better to just get on with it. He merged smoothly into the left lane and waited for the correct exit. He and House are going to have to find out what this mess is all about as soon as he loses his followers.

Exactly one hour and fifteen minutes later Wilson arrives at work. Chase is at his desk, looking as though he's been in the same position since he arrived. It was skill that Wilson found useful and disturbing. He had never quite mastered the art of looking as though he had been in the same place forever--an immovable human decoration--although House, in his more patient moods could do it. Wilson had never learned his secret. When asked, House tended to give explanations that rambled from physics to arcane branches of Zen Buddhism. All of which, as far as Wilson could tell--after long study in decoding House--meant nothing at all in terms of being an immovable human decoration. Wilson had perfected being blandly forgettable instead, which--House's derision aside--he felt served him just as well.

"House said you'd gone to a strip club."

"It's not even ten."

Chase pulls the mangled pen from his mouth and grins. "House said it was because he wouldn't sing Over the Rainbow to you last night, so I kinda figured that the strip club thing wasn't accurate."

"Yes, and now that you've dazzled Wilson with your powers of deduction maybe you can shut up so he'll tell us exactly where he's been for the last..." House makes an elaborate show of checking his watch, "two hours and fifteen minutes."

"I had a tail."

"It took you this long to shake them? Chase obviously needs to give you a refresher course."

"Well, I wanted to be sure."

"Oh, come on. You just want to play naughty student and teacher, but I'm not indulging your sick habits."

"House, the point is that somebody was tailing me. If you would get your mind off of sex for a few minutes we could actually do something here."

"And you call yourself a man."

"House!"

"Fine, fine. Chase, find out who's interested in Wilson. I'm going to go look through the hideous pile of contracts you threw at me."

"Wonders never cease--you're interested in working."

"It's better than you telling me to be serious." House pulls a face at both of them before he retreats to his office.

"Alright, Chase. You ready for details?"

Chase nods and picks up a pen. This is old familiar ground for them. And it should be after having Chase as a bizarre combination of assistant and protégée for almost three years.

* * *

Wilson sighs and reshuffles the papers in the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd see some job worth filling in them. Usually Chase is pretty good at sorting through the offers and discarding the dull ones, but this time he'd fallen down.

He can see Chase hunched over his desk, messy blond hair falling in his face. He wonders, not for the first time, why Chase insists on keeping it that long. They'd both talked to him about it and House never ceased ribbing him, yet the long hair stayed. Wilson finds it a bit odd, but House has made it his personal mission to find out why Chase refused to get a shorter cut. Not, Wilson reflects, that he's having much luck. It makes him rather proud that Chase can be that secretive about something.

"Chase."

"Yes, boss?"

"Is there anything else?"

"Nope."

Wilson scowls and wonders what he's done to deserve such dull work. He was not exactly noted for screwing up so why give him such easy jobs? Where had all the hard contracts gone? Their reputation is solid, it isn't like anyone has a reason to seek another contractor. He wonders if it has something to do with the racehorse, but really that hadn't even been his fault. Maybe House will have something good in his pile.

House has a Walther PPK dismantled on his desk. He was inspecting the barrel as though it had done something to offend him. Wilson recognizes it as the gun that House thinks cost him the McCarthy job. Wilson wishes that he'd get rid of the gun, but House won't. He enjoys having a reminder of the stupidity of relying on a gun.

It just reminds Wilson that House is never going to walk again without a limp or have full mobility in his right hand. He's stopped asking House to get rid of it because he knows it won't do any good. They have other battles to fight that are more important than his sensibilities. House has the _Stones_ playing again. It's like after McCarthy they've become House's soundtrack. He wonders if he should be glad that House didn't latch on to something worse.

"You got anything good?"

House lays down the cleaning rod. "No. Hence, the reason Chase gave them to you."

"What?"

"You can't expect me to take a seventy-year-old man who drinks too much and wants to race stock cars. He'll take care of himself. I'm not wasting my time on that."

"It'd be easy."

"Boring." House sighs and rubs the cloth down the gun barrel. His prosthetic fingers are lying in the soap dish on his desk. Wilson tries not to look away from the scarred stumps of House's middle, ring, and pinky fingers. He's just about to point out that it's sensible for House to do something quick (read: easy) for his first time back in the field after McCarthy, when Chase taps on the door. Wilson puts his argument aside.

"Undine is very unhappy and wants you to make amends," Chase says.

"Undine? Why?"

House makes 'clip clop' noises against his desk and Wilson tosses a pen at him. He bats it aside and Chase pretends not to notice.

"The horse?"

Chase nods. "They had a lot of money invested in that horse, sir."

"That isn't my problem. That the idiot wanted to make a statement."

Chase shrugs. "They say that they lost a substantial amount and it was Mr. Undine's favorite."

"What do they want?"

"Freebie."

"Fuck. Where?"

"Somewhere on the west coast."

House snickers. "You're always saying we should take a vacation out there."

Wilson rubs at his temples. He hadn't anticipated this when he went freelance with House. Chase shifts slightly.

"Fine. I'll take it."

"Excellent. I'm coming too."

Wilson frowns. It isn't like House to want to come on a job with him unless there is another one close by, but even then they try not to do that sort of thing because it can get distracting having a partner around. Except that if he'd been with him the last time House wouldn't be missing his fingers or limping from a badly healed femur. House is looking smugly pleased. Too pleased.

"You knew about this?"

"I've got a job out there."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep."

"And you just happened to accept it, of course."

"I know. Who could have foreseen this coming up?"

"House."

House grins at him. "Chase can take the old geezer. He should be out on his own anyway. Chase, come here."

"Yes, boss?"

"It's time to leave the nest. Mommy and Daddy talked about it and we've decided it's time for you to make your very own solo hit."

House pretends to wipe away a tear as he thrusts the file into Chase's hands. Chase flips it open.

"But he's old...and suicidal."

"Chase, I'm surprised at you. The old dear has taken life by the horns, revivified himself. And you call him suicidal. I'm shocked at you--being so narrow-minded about a lifestyle choice of all things."

"Right. How could I forget that? He's revitalized his life."

"It's a good hit, simple and clean. Just the right sort of thing to start off with."

"Alright."

"We're so proud of you. Now, Mommy and Daddy need time alone so you go plan it."

Chase nods and exits. Wilson wonders what Chase is going to come up with. He's shown a preference for booby traps, much to House's displeasure. He feels Rube Goldberg is not what one should aspire to in their line of work.

"So who's the mark?"

House grins. "It's a surprise."

"A surprise?"

"Right."

"So how are you supposed to plan if it's a surprise?"

"We'll figure it out when we get there. Where's your sense of adventure?"

Wilson pats his pockets. "I must have lost it back in New Orleans."

House scoffs and tosses a sucker at him. He catches it because he knows from long experience that House will just keep throwing them at him until he gets one. It's simpler to go with House on the small things. The sucker joins the three others that are already in the pocket of his suit coat. He's going to have to remember to put them back into the jar on his desk before they get to the nasty sticky phase when the wrappers have to be peeled off in pieces.

"You didn't even get held for a full twenty-four. New Orleans wasn't that bad."

"You didn't spend the night in a cell with two guys named Bubba and Ed."

"Oh, come on. What? Did they try to touch you?"

Wilson glares at him so House tosses him another sucker. "Nobody could touch you if you don't let them. I think you'd know that I'd fucking know that."

"You're missing the point."

"No, you are. Now, when are we leaving?"

"We aren't leaving."

Wilson tries his best steely glare, but he knows it's failed utterly when House grins and pops a purple sucker in his mouth.

"We can pretend to be a couple. I'll wear loud Hawaiian shirts. You can have the straw tote bag and the lisp."

"I am not carrying a straw tote bag."

"So when do we leave?"

"The point is to be inconspicuous. We can't do that if we're together."

House looks at him with big, mournful eyes. "Are you still trying to deny our epic romance?"

"House, we are not going as a couple and I am not wandering around lisping at people."

"You suck at this."

"We can have the same hotel if you're that desperate for me."

"Did I say that?"

Wilson shakes his head and pulls the wrapper off a red sucker. House makes a grab for it, but Wilson avoids him and sticks the sucker in his mouth. He grins around the candy.

"I was saving that one," House grumbles.

Wilson shrugs and slides the sucker out of his mouth with a sharp pop. "Too late now."

He laps at it gently with his tongue then slips it back into his mouth, after making sure House sees that it is shiny with spit.

House watches the candy intently. He can see it glint in the light, slick with Wilson's spit; as if that's really going to stop him. House grabs Wilson's shoulder. He can remember the feeling of holding onto Wilson before he lost his fingers, remember how Wilson would twitch when he dug his ring finger in just right. That's lost to him now. Wilson doesn't flinch anymore and he doesn't move either. House pulls the sucker out of his mouth with a pop.

"That's my favorite kind."

House licks at the sucker slowly and slides it into his mouth.

* * *

Wilson pinches the bridge of his nose and wishes Chase would hurry up on identifying whose radar he's currently lighting up. It would be so nice if a little pay off could take care of it, but he's starting to get a horrible feeling that the tail was just the first sign of something bigger. House is still trying to get him to agree to pose as a couple even though Wilson's laid out every point against it.

The aspirin in his desk is starting to look very temping when Chase knocks gently against the doorframe.

"Boss, I got the information for you." He wiggles a plain manila folder as though Wilson doesn't know what it contains. It's an old familiar gesture that makes Wilson smile. It seems that no matter how long they've been working with Chase (or training him, as House calls it), he still retains his dangerous attachment to electronic data. Wilson has to admit that he does feel more secure now that they aren't paying a bundle to get those things sorted out externally. Chase is more than competent. Still, Wilson can't warm to the idea of everything stored on such easy to carry pieces of plastic. It's no wonder House calls him a closet Luddite. Chase's dislike of hard copy is a small enough thing to get over when the returns are so high.

Chase plops down into the chair in front of Wilson's desk and passes him the folder.

"It's two FBI agents."

"How did that happen?"

Chase shrugs and chews on his pen lid, the blue tip jutting out just enough to distort the left corner of his mouth. "Near as I can tell, they started looking after Agent Cameron failed to connect with you for the long term."

Wilson stares at the picture of the brunette with the heart-shaped face. She doesn't even look familiar. He tips the picture, hoping for memory to click into place, but nothing happens. Agent Cameron remains nothing more than a rather gentle-looking woman with nice eyes.

"Try her as a blond."

Chase passes him another picture. This time it clicks - Grace, the tourist in Italy who was homesick for Maine. Oh, shit. He hooked up with an undercover FBI agent. House is never going to let him hear the end of this now. Not when he's had so much fun with the idea of anyone being homesick for Maine. Wilson wonders if it's possible that maybe there's another explanation. He dismisses it at once because he knows it's dangerous to keep such false hope around. He really hopes House will be more interested in the other agent.

House, of course, is not more interested in Agent Foreman. Instead, he starts making jokes about Wilson's FBI-sensitive dick. It's an unspoken agreement between them that while they're on a job they can bed who they need to or want to. Sometimes the job ends up taking a long time and, as House put it one time when they were trying to sidestep the issue, "No sex for months is too fucking long, Jimmy." However, fucking around with the FBI has never been part of the equation before.

House juggles his tennis balls from hand to hand as he tries to find a rhyme for agent that is also appropriately filthy. Long practice at ignoring this sort of thing allows Wilson to move on to the important things. He knows that House will pay attention even if he doesn't look like he is.

"Alright. So we've got these agents on me, which is another reason to go separately. If they don't see us together, it'll be harder for them to figure out we're going to the same place."

"You're just trying to have a fling while you're on the job. Am I not enough for you anymore?"

Wilson can see Chase shift slightly, and he makes a note to tell Chase not to telegraph his discomfort through his stance. It is rather strange to realize that Chase is still a little unsure of House and his efforts to turn everything sexual.

"Yes, House. That's exactly it. I've got a hot blonde from the CIA just waiting for me."

House whacks him on the shoulder. "You don't have to make me jealous with old boasts."

"You could pretend to hook up as a new couple when you get there."

They both turn and look at Chase. He smiles a little weakly. "It's just a suggestion."

"Our baby is so good at scheming now. Daddy's very impressed, Chase."

Wilson wonders if he'll ever get House to stop making him into Mommy. Somehow he doubts it. House tosses Chase one of his suckers.

"So, Wilson, what do you say? Can we have a wild weekend romance?"

"Fine, but we're taking separate flights."

House grins. "I knew you'd agree. Chase, I want the Foreman file on my desk ASAP and then get to planning for the old guy."

* * *

Chase books them on separate flights and gives them cover documents to go with the hit dossiers. House is going to travel under the name Nicholas Jason because he's decided it's the most obnoxious name he can come up with. Privately, Wilson thinks that the two names aren't especially bad separately, and together they just sound like they're missing a nice strong last name. Wilson ends up as Tony Jaffe, but he makes Chase change it to Tony Spindler because he doesn't want to have the last initial of his last name match House's.

Chase calls him overly paranoid, but does it anyway. As far as Wilson's concerned, there's no way anyone can be called overly paranoid, especially not after what happened with House.

He makes sure that House takes his iPod because he knows how bored House can get on long flights. He doesn't see House off in the taxi. That would defeat the purpose, but a small part (the romantic part that he tries to keep deeply repressed for his own sanity's sake) wishes that he could see House off at the airport. Instead, he goes over the file for his freebie job once more and makes Chase dig up all the information he can on Agents Cameron and Foreman.

His mark is a fifty-six-year-old CEO, who likes golf and vacations on secluded islands that don't have many laws that money can't change for a bit. Wilson decides he probably rates a generous six in terms of moral bankruptcy, but he's definitely not one of the more pleasurable targets Wilson has handled. He knows it would be foolish to try getting out of doing the freebie. Besides, it's just the sort of thing to make that racehorse stop haunting him. He still can't understand why they had to get so worked up about a horse--especially a horse that House claims he would never have bet on in the first place, even though, as Chase points out, House likes to bet on long shots. Nevertheless, Wilson has to be fair about his evaluation and the horse was supposed to have potential. Although he's always been in favor of judging potential when there is some actual solid performance to go from, which wasn't the case for the horse. The CEO is named Charles Taylor Winston and he looks rather like a beefy bulldog in the attached pictures.

Chase drops off additional, but ultimately disappointing, information after lunch. Wilson reads that Foreman's favorite colour is purple and his mother has Alzheimer's. He is young and ambitious--although Wilson already suspected that--and prone to driving badly, if the report of him crashing into a suspect's vehicle is accurate. It was obviously his partner driving when they did the tail. Overall, Wilson's pretty sure that he is going to be a pain, but not so much that he can't be either avoided or worked around.

Agent Cameron sounds like a crusader, which is more of a worry. He's had to deal with that type of agent before and it's never been pretty. That type gets too focused and too willing to bend rules if they think it will get them to the goal. They are the only kind that he has ever had to permanently neutralize. Wilson really hopes that he doesn't end up having to do that to Cameron because neutralizing an agent permanently can have a lot of very nasty consequences. He's still half convinced that the last neutralization was partly responsible for the botch on the McCarthy job, but there's no proof and even House calls him paranoid for thinking that.

"Taxi is coming."

"Thanks." He slips the ticket into his suit coat pocket and closes his office door. A hit awaits him and probably a very impatient House as well.

"Good luck with your file. Call if you need anything and remember the elderly are very fragile," Wilson says.

Chase nods and holds the door open for him as he flips up the collar of his coat. Wilson wonders if the torrential rain is an indication that he needs to find a new and drier base of operations. It has been a few years and it's never a good thing to get too settled in one place. He wonders how House would feel about moving again. He hates to lose his home, but it really is getting close to the time to make a new start.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time his plane touches down in Seattle, Wilson has finished three crossword puzzles. Tony Spindler slides through security and rents a car with a minimum of fuss. Tony is just that smooth. He smiles and retrieves the hidden cache of guns on his way to the hotel. There is nothing better for making his business run smoothly than low-paid and disgruntled baggage handlers.

Whistling would be déclassé, but he really can't resist because absolutely everything is going perfectly. House hasn't called once demanding to know where he is or when he's going to be arriving. House hasn't even called for phone sex yet, which Wilson thinks is a miracle. He's especially grateful for that because he just can't stand phone sex even though House thinks it's all great fun.

The drive out of Seattle is remarkably traffic-free and Wilson is pleased to find a radio station playing musical soundtracks. Gilbert and Sullivan for a long drive is just the thing and it's so far away from the Stones. He is absolutely determined to get "Satisfaction" out of his head by the time he gets into town and The Mikado seems like just the ticket.

The hotel is of the high-end variety where the maids leave chocolates on the pillows after turning down the bed. More importantly for Wilson, it is also excellent for keeping its guests' business devoid of scrutiny. He lets the bellhop take his luggage to the room, feeling no qualms about letting an oblivious teenager handle thousands of dollars in weaponry. House, of course, would be watching carefully to make sure that nothing got jostled, which is why Wilson had deemed it much safer to take care of things himself.

He tips the boy well and immediately goes about securing the weapons behind vents and under the bed. They aren't really hiding places that a professional would overlook, but for the average innocent maid they work spectacularly. He's just about to go find House and whatever distraction he's sure to have found when his phone rings.

"Boss? I've got a little problem."

Chases sounds almost embarrassed. It reminds Wilson of the time when he was still with the Company and one of his junior trainees had gotten his dick caught in his zipper while trying to flee from a target's irate husband. He really hopes that Chase is better than that. Really, the entire point of going independent was to get away from that sort of thing. He has screening processes to weed out the idiots now and Chase passed all of those. He should not be having any trouble. The hit is clean, simple, and the guy is geriatric. It's not like Chase is going to be chasing him down.

"Is this secure?"

"Yes, boss."

"Good. Now let's hear it."

"Well, he's got a dog and a mistress."

"I'm not seeing the problem."

"Well I can't get the dog alone because his leash is chained to the guy's hand."

"I beg your pardon?"

"He chained himself to the dog."

"Right." Wilson thinks it's a small miracle that House isn't with him to hear about the dog and make bestiality cracks. Poor Chase is sounding a little frazzled. "Can you take him out before the dog notices?"

"No, he's a yappy little fucker."

"You could just kill it."

"The dog?"

"Sure."

"Look, I don't want to end up in the same place as you and your racehorse."

"That was not my doing. Can you sedate him? A tranq dart isn't going to do any harm as long as you're quick about getting to the guy."

"I hate those things. I was hoping you had a better idea."

"It's the easiest option besides just whacking them both."

"Oh. Thanks, boss."

"Best of luck. Call if you need anything."

Wilson has to take a second to calm down because that Goddamn race horse just will not shut up and die. People die all the time and nobody makes this much fuss about one of them. He pops an antacid and checks the time. House is going to be looking for him soon. He'd better hurry. He's riding down the elevator with a short woman who looks like a strong wind could knock her over, when his phone rings. She glares at him and her bag shifts. He edges back from her, almost convinced she's someone in a clever disguise who might be gunning for him, when the head of a fluffy white cat pokes out of the bag. The cat glares malevolently at him as he flips open his phone.

"So what are you wearing?"

Five minutes to go before the rendezvous and House is getting impatient. If Chase hadn't phoned him he would have been there on time, but he can't ignore their protégée, not when he needs advice about a dog. With all the animals showing up in his life lately, Wilson is starting to wonder if he should be rethinking his practice. Maybe he should try opening it up to animals.

He knows Gilmar is making out like a bandit now that she's expanded her practice. But Gilmar's not really someone he would choose as a role model, not unless he's looking to get a quick criminal insanity diagnosis. She is a genius in her field just not a very ethical or stable one as far as Wilson is concerned. He shakes his head ruefully at the thought because it's something that he's been disagreeing with House about ever since they found out about Gilmar's latest entrepreneurial idea.

"I'm not doing this with you."

"Oh, come on. Live a little. I'm sitting here, thinking about how much I want you. I'm so hard right now and I wish I could feel your hands on me. Feel you sliding them down my cock while I'm prepping you. Slicking you up and getting you nice and open. Everyone here knows that I want you, that I'm hard just talking to you. We could give them a show if you were here."

"Stop it! I'm not having phone sex with you. Now get out of there and go the right place. I don't care how hard you are right now."

The cat woman looks at him with a raised eyebrow. Wilson is pretty sure that she's not enthused by his pronouncements about phone sex or the state of House's cock.

"I'm already there."

"You are not. It's not a tiki lounge and I can hear that dreadful ukulele music in the background. You have five minutes to get there or I'm ordering you shellfish."

"You're cruel to leave me in such a state."

"If you want anything tonight, you better show up at the right place."

The cat lady glares at him as he exits the elevator. Wilson hopes she's not staying long at the hotel and if she is, he makes a note to avoid her in the future.

* * *

The restaurant is one of those open-air café deals that tries to be trendy without falling into complete tourist kitsch. It's decorated in a nautical theme and Wilson hopes that the food is better than the display of (mostly) improperly tied knots. House isn't here yet, but that's all right. Wilson knows better than to expect House to show right on time when the meeting isn't critical.

He gets the last available table and orders coffee from a perky blond identified as 'Tiffani' by her name tag. Wilson wonders if she writes hearts above each of the I's in her name. He pretends not to notice House when he shows up. It's all part of the plan.

"Can I join you?" House is smiling slightly, just enough of an 'I dare you' smirk to let anyone observing know that he wouldn't really take no for an answer to that question. Wilson nods and gestures to the chair.

"Please do. I like good company with a meal."

House lets his prosthetic fingers taps gently against the surface of the table. "I'm Jason, Nicholas Jason."

They shake as Wilson says, "Tony Spindler. Are you here for business or pleasure?"

House grins and leers at their approaching waitress. "Business. But I'd never pass up pleasure. If you know what I mean."

"Right."

House grins at him. "So what brings you to this fair establishment?"

"Lunch."

"And your trip here?" Wilson relaxes slightly as he realizes that House has remembered to code instead of just entertaining himself. _Were you followed?_

"Beautiful really. I'm hoping to get some bird-watching in while I'm here." _No, but they'll be showing up soon._

"You do a lot of bird watching?" _Are you sure?_

"It's just a hobby really, but a friend got me a new field guide. It does wonders for identifying them." _Chase confirms same group._

"See, I never did notice the differences between them, unless it was obvious, of course. All those grass sparrows look the same." _Do we know who yet? Is it the same agents?_

"They can be tricky, but this new field guide makes it a breeze to pick them out." _Yes, it should be the same agents._

"I'd love to see it." _I'm getting tired of this._

"Maybe you have time after lunch?" _Patience, we'll sort it out later._

"You have it with you?" _Weapons?_

"I never leave home without it if I think I'll get a little birding in." _Naturally, I have the weapons. Precautions were taken assuming the agents were already in place, already watching us._

Tiffani reappears at House's elbow, still smiling brightly. "What can I get you gentlemen today?"

"You wouldn't happen to know the last time this place was exterminated?"

"What?"

Wilson kicks House in the shin and he grunts softly. This is not happening. Wilson is not going to let House pull a repeat of that time in the diner that ended with a big bill and no food.

"He's just joking. He was just saying that he should try the braised salmon and I'll have the chicken scampi."

Wilson kicks House again until he nods. "Right, I want salmon."

Tiffani does not look completely convinced, but dutifully trots off with their order before House can do any more damage. As soon as he's sure Tiffani is out of earshot he turns to House.

"You can't say things like that. Don't you remember that diner in Wyoming?"

"Hm...no."

"We were blacklisted from every restaurant in the town, House, all because you had to start talking about acceptable hygiene standards. You are not doing that again. We are going to have a good lunch, without you insulting any of the staff or calling into question their hygiene standards."

House frowns. "You're awfully blasé about the sanitation of your food. Think of the dangers of eating undercooked pork. You could end up with a parasite slowly causing you to lose control of your body."

"House, that is not a completely unfixable problem you know. So stop worrying about it. I know you're not a real hypochondriac. You just need to stop reading medical manuals."

"I was bored."

"Normal people take up knitting or macramé, they read Oprah's Book Club picks. They don't memorize gruesome diseases from medical texts and they don't turn into hypochondriacs."

House kicks his leg and he gasps at the sudden pain. He remembers House before _that_ , before he ended up broken and only mostly fixed. House wasn't a hypochondriac and he's sure that House is not giving over to useless paranoia now, not when he was the first to laugh at it before. House is watching him intently and Wilson waits for him to say something. He really hopes House is going to snap back and not get hurt by the comment. Wilson is still remembering to walk softly around House about certain things; still watching his words more closely than he's used to with House before.

"Why, Tony, if I took up macramé, I'd have to get plants."

"Plants?"

"I thought everyone knew that macramé plant holders are the absolute pinnacle of achievement, a sign of mastery of that noble and ancient art."

"I hadn't realized."

"I'd have to make useful things and, well, one should always try to perfect a skill, master the art. And, thus, I'd end up with plant holders devoid of plants. You know what a travesty that would be?"

"It wouldn't actually be that hard to acquire plants, you know."

"True, but unfortunately I was not born with a green thumb." House flips both thumbs up and waggles them so Wilson can see that they lack even a slight greenish tint. "So I killed any plant I tried to care for. It was kinder all around for me to stop trying."

"Maybe you just had fussy plants."

"Your faith in my ability to reform is very misplaced. One of my former boyfriends gave me a cactus and I killed it in less than a month. It got all withered and shrivelled up."

"I take it back. Obviously, knitting would be a better hobby for one as murderous to flora as you."

Tiffani interrupts whatever House was going to say about knitting by bringing their meals. House's lip curls into a sneer at the sight of the delicately pink salmon curled on a bed of rice, with lemon slices so thin as to be transparent.

"Enjoy, gentlemen."

"Thanks. I'm sure we will."

House manages to make a perfectly civil comment sound suggestive. Long practice lets Wilson ignore it. The first memory that Wilson has of House is hearing him ask if he really sleeps with his gun or if just fondling it is enough. It really does have such a lovely smooth shaft. I can understand why you can't resist a good feel. Tiffani blushes and hurries away a little faster than necessary.

"I thought you said you had a boyfriend?"

House waves his fork airily. "Had. But really I'm not limiting myself."

"I see."

House makes a moue and Wilson recognizes it as House playing bashful. "Between us, he wasn't ready for the idea of an open relationship. Got all jealous."

Wilson laughs softly. "I'm sorry I got you salmon."

House shrugs. "It's probably safer than your chicken."

* * *

"Look at my bird field guide? Really, Wilson, why not just ask if I want to see your etchings?"

"I didn't hear you come up with anything. And, besides, it got you up here didn't it?"

House opens the closet doors and tsks. "You hung everything up already?"

"Unlike you, I don't like looking like a slob."

"I'm artfully casual."

"You're wrinkled." Wilson points to House's dress shirt to emphasize his point.

House shrugs. "It's still awfully anal of you."

"I thought you liked that." Wilson immediately wants to take it back because that's just too good an opening for House to resist and he knows it.

"Why, Jimmy! I thought you were pure. Such a mouth!" House laughs and bounces down on the bed. "You wanna test it out?"

Wilson shrugs. "You don't want to see the weapons yet?"

"I made up my list and I know you would never have substituted anything on it."

"Well, I did leave off the percussion grenades."

"You what?"

"Grenades are not exactly subtle. Why would you even need them for your mysterious hit? By the way, when are you going to give me the details on that?"

"You took out my grenades?"

"House, it's a not a siege. Of course I took them out."

"What if they were integral to my plan, hmm...?"

"You just wanted another chance to use them after that job in Sudan."

House shrugs and pats the bed. "Oh, come on. Let's play."

Wilson sits next to him. House bends his head and kisses Wilson's cheek. His lips move across Wilson's jaw and he whispers into his ear, "I want to fuck, want to feel you inside me. I was sitting in that bar so fucking hard because I wanted you, and then you wouldn't talk to me."

Wilson turns his head so he can kiss House fully on the mouth. He slides his tongue into House's mouth. He tastes the chocolate from dessert and lets his tongue flick against House's as he draws back to nip gently at House's bottom lip.

"I was in an elevator. There was no way. And now you have to wait because I'm going out for a bit of reconnaissance."

Wilson slides off the bed and ignores House until he's almost to the door. He turns and smiles. "Anticipation makes everything better."

"Does not," House tells him as he closes the door.

* * *

Wilson is casually wandering around the downtown building where Charles Taylor Winston keeps his main office. He notes where the cameras are located, the time sweeps and the rotation of the lobby guard. For an acquisitions corporation, Wilson thinks that their lobby has rather more security that necessary. He puts it down to recent security threats, but makes a note to have Chase double-check any threats against Winston Enterprises. He doesn't think there was any mention of it in the file, but maybe the threat is more recent--unlikely, but otherwise there needs to be more explanation for such heavy security. The ten armed guards in the lobby are especially curious as far as Wilson is concerned. He crosses off Winston's office as a potential hit site. It would just be too risky to attempt. He figures the country club or his house would be the next best options.

He's just opening the door, when a woman tries to open it from the other side. She glances up and steps aside to let him pass through. He nods his thanks and is about to continue, when he realizes that she looks familiar.

"James? James Wilson, is that you?"

The use of his real name stops him cold. How could this woman have known it? He hasn't used it outside his home in more than a decade. He wonders if he's going to be arranging for yet another job while he's doing the Undine freebie. He really hopes not. There are already two hits in the city and he does not want to risk being associated with another body while he's on the job. At least it's a woman who knows his name. Women are usually so much easier to deal with than men.

He smiles as she steps towards him, and tries to place her name. It's not until he sees the long pendulum of pearls that dangle from her necklace that he places her. He's always been better at remembering faces and details than names. It's a skill that's served him well over the years, but does nothing to make normal interaction easier. Thankfully, he doesn't have to do it too often. And now he's starting to sound like House again. He makes sure that he keeps smiling even as he pushes away his dismay at that latest revelation.

"Lisa Cuddy, it's been a long time."

She smiles and it's still the same wide smile that he remembers from those warm Caribbean nights years ago. "I thought it was you. You haven't changed that much."

He ducks his head, playing a little bashful. "I could say the same thing about you."

She laughs. "Are you visiting?"

"Yes, just a little trip."

She nods and Wilson is sure that the closed-off, blank look in her eyes is new. "Are you still looking to be a shark?" Wilson asks.

"Not looking anymore."

"Congratulations. You work here?"

Cuddy steps back out of the flow of traffic and Wilson is forced to follow or raise his voice to unsuitably conspicuous levels. She nods towards the offices of Winston Enterprises. "I work for them all over."

"How long?"

"Eight years, this November." She pauses. "Are you still with Carlson, McDonald, and Richards?"

He shrugs. "What can I say? They're good to me."

She chuckles. "Can I buy you a coffee, catch up with you before you leave? I was sorry I didn't get your contact details last time."

Lisa Cuddy, no matter how guarded her eyes are, still gives off the impression of boundless energy.

He nods. "I'd like that. I'm at the Bay Water, room two-twenty-five."

"What kind of girl do you think I am, James?" She widens her eyes and Wilson is suddenly reminded of House when he's in the mood to play coy. Cuddy grins at him, wide and bright, it isn't a smile he normally associates with lawyers. "There's a great little place just off the water, _Lenny's_ ; I'll meet you there at eight?"

"I think I can manage that." He smiles.

"See you then, James."

He does not watch Cuddy walk into the building. Instead, he's already starting to plan possible ways to get information from her about the security.

He drives his rental car to Winston's country club. It whispers money, but with an air of self-consciousness that Wilson has come to associate with the _nouveau riche_. The security is lighter here than at the office. He wanders in and finds out that he needs to be a member to get past the foyer. Not an insurmountable barrier, but one he'd rather not have to climb. Long ingrained habit makes him avoid leaving more of a potential trail than necessary and membership in the club would certainly qualify as unnecessary. He could go in as part of the work force, but that would take time to set up and there does not seem to be enough staff to make infiltration simple.

It's too bad really, because it would be so easy to slip one of House's slow-acting, hard-to-detect poisons into Winston's food. Wilson sighs. So much for a quick and simple job.

He drives down the roads that run close to the club, but he comes up with no potential locations that suit his needs. It's looking like the hit will have to be at Charles Taylor Winston's house after all. Wilson hopes that maybe House can come up with something else because he really dislikes the idea of doing the job at Winston's home. The man lives on an island that looks suspiciously like a fortress. He needs to get Chase working on extracting better blueprints for it.

* * *

Cameron rolls her neck until it cracks. Foreman looks up and glares at her.

"We wouldn't be stuck doing crap work if you hadn't lost him," he says.

"Oh, excuse me for not wanting to crack up yet again because you're impatient. Your obsession with cars isn't healthy, you know."

"My obsession? What about your ideas about fair play?"

"You mean following the rules?"

"I mean wandering around letting the bad guys get away because you won't bend a little bit."

Cameron is saved from answering when her phone rings.

"Agent Cameron," she says.

"You owe me for this, but your boy just popped up on the west coast." The voice of Brenda Previn, resident electronics whiz, is made tinny by the filters the call is going through, but Cameron has known her long enough to recognize the slight emphasis on the Ws.

"Really?"

"You bet. I can't find a trail in, but he's definitely there. CCTV footage has him cold. I'll send you the file."

"Thanks, Brenda. I owe you."

"Yeah, you do. Should I put it on your tab?"

Cameron laughs. "Sure."

"What was that?"

"Oh, you owe me again, Eric. Our guy just popped up on the west coast."

"What? He hasn't been there in at least eight years, maybe more. Why would he go back now after avoiding the place for so long?"

Cameron shrugs. "We'll find out when we get there. You're ready to go ASAP, right?"

Foreman doesn't even bother to answer the question. If James Evan Wilson and his aliases have popped up on the grid he is definitely ready to go. They've been after him for too long to let something this good slip past them just because Foreman doesn't have his toothbrush packed. Whoever Cameron has a deal with in the electronic surveillance division is good. He wonders if he'll ever get to know more than the code name Brenda. If they ever get reassigned he really wants to have access to Brenda's expertise.

He wonders who's going to wind up dead this time. People always do when Wilson is in a city. It's something to count on, like the rain in England or cold winters in Chicago. Cameron swears there has to be some sort of pattern to the kills, but her obsessive modeling has come up with nothing so far. He's pretty sure that nothing will ever come of it, mostly because the guy kills people for money. It's not like someone who does that is going to have standards about who he kills. No matter what Cameron seems to think about him being a picky assassin. She always hates it when he points that the guy is just doing his job.

"So what's the deal with your obsession with this guy?"

Cameron looks up from what has to be her fourth reread of the file since the flight began. She raises one eyebrow as though to ask, _what obsession?_

"He isn't really doing anything all that bad. No baby-raping, no kiddie porn, donates to battered women's charities. There're a lot worse people out there."

"How can you say that?" Cameron stares at him in horror and Foreman remembers that she still has that incredibly moral center that most agents eventually realize is a good base, but must be subject to adjustment to fit the case. "He's a psychopath. You can't tell me you want somebody like that out there. Just free to do as he pleases."

"A psychopath kills for no reason. Wilson kills for money."

"Oh, and that's so much better."

"You've never met him. He might be really nice."

"I have and he is, but that doesn't make him less wrong."

Foreman stares at her. "What? You have not. It's not in the file."

Cameron shrugs uncomfortably. "Before I got here I was a swallow for a bit."

"You?"

"Yes, me. Is that so hard to believe?"

Foreman holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I just...it isn't something that comes to mind."

Cameron shrugs. "You want to hear this or not?"

"Yes. You actually met the guy. I've just seen his license plate and pictures."

"He was in Italy and I was supposed to get close, find out what he was doing and keep him busy so that we could get the target to a safe house. Everything went perfectly, except that somewhere in between bedding me and breakfast he slipped out and got the target without alerting anybody who was supposed to be watching him. I was right there with him and I didn't even notice that he'd left. I got that woman killed because I wasn't good enough and then he uses me as a fucking alibi. So, yes, maybe it's a little personal for me, Foreman." She glares. "But that doesn't change the fact that he's twisted bastard who kills people because he gets paid."

Forman nods. "I'm sorry, but you know it wasn't really your fault, right?"

Cameron takes a long swig of water. "I know. Everyone told me that, but she's still dead."

"Was he actually good in bed?"

Cameron blushes. "That's not relevant."

"Ah, come on, you know treatment of sexual partners can be used to figure out profiles." He grins at her.

"All right, fine. He was great. You happy now?"

* * *

House decides that since Wilson has cruelly decided to abandon him it would be best to find some suitably appropriate gift to punish him with. There has to be a sex shop in this town. And if he can get Wilson to open the gift in public, so much the better. Now what to get? A dildo is always in fashion, but it's rather passé; maybe nipple clamps?

House is just passing a bakery when a woman bumps into him. She yelps and stumbles back, but not before House has caught a good feel of her ass in his attempt to steady her. Lisa Cuddy still possesses the same strong features from almost a decade ago. He grins down at her and wonders if she remembers him. Back when he'd known her she'd possessed a scarily good ability to put names to faces.

She blinks at him and frowns slightly. "I'm so sorry about that."

"No trouble at all, but if you want to make it up to me?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and waits to see if she'll take the bait like she used to.

Cuddy laughs. "Jesus Christ! Gregory House, you haven't changed a bit, you letch!"

He bows. "And your ass is still just as tight as I remember, Lisa."

"Still focused on one thing I see."

"With you, how could I not be?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, House."

"I'm wounded. You think I'd ever stoop to flattery when faced with your great assets?"

"Of course. Are you still pretending to be a journalist?"

"Are you still pretending to be a woman?"

"I was never a man, House, no matter what you think you've cleverly deduced."

"I've seen your balls, you liar."

Cuddy whacks him sharply on the shoulder. "You wish."

"You don't remember Baltimore?"

Cuddy shrugs. "I remember record rainfall that time."

"We were in bed for two days straight and you made me go on a condom run at three in the morning."

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that. Best wanking material for long lonely nights."

"You're such a sweet talker."

"Wanna help me make new memories?"

"I've always liked that about you, House--no bullshit."

House grins, knows that he is wearing Cuddy down to at least an invitation for drinks. After that, well, he's sure that things will take their natural course. It's too bad that Cuddy probably won't be up to the idea of adding Wilson to the mix. Although he might be able to talk her into it if Wilson is willing to use his silver tongue.

"So drinks on me tonight?"

"I'm meeting someone tonight sorry. Are you around tomorrow?"

"I could be, but you know how busy we fake journalists are. I'd have to check my schedule, maybe shift the twins."

"Yeah, right, House."

"I swear on the grave of my mother. They're insatiable and, oh, you didn't mean them." He does his best to looks surprised. "It's true though, Cuddy, we're even more busy than real journalists."

"Fine. Tomorrow it is. And you're buying, House."

"I'm at the Bay Water, room two-sixteen. Pick me up at eight?"

"So demanding."

"You know you just like a firm hand."

Cuddy glares. "I'll show you a firm hand. I remember the last time it wasn't me doing all the begging."

"So you do remember."

"Of course I remember that. Now, I'm running late."

House spends the rest of the day sitting in the sun and contemplating how to get Wilson to agree to a potential threesome. He has a really annoying waiter named Albert who keeps hovering. House is almost tempted to move, except the sun is so warm.

He's almost completely relaxed, when he sees Petra Gilmar striding down the street. She's wearing the same shade of poisonous green that House remembers from their last meeting. This can't be good at all. Fuck. He needs to tell Wilson.

* * *

When Wilson gets back to his room he finds House sprawled on the bed waiting for him. House clicks the safety of his pistol back on and Wilson wonders what exactly happened to make House suddenly jumpy.

"Your nemesis has arrived."

House delivers his pronouncement with the flourish of a ringmaster announcing death-defying lion tamers. Wilson tries to remember when he acquired a nemesis. It seems like the sort of thing that one ought to know about before other people, rather than after them, even if the other people only consist of House, who seems to know lots of things too early.

"Who?"

"Gilmar is in town."

"Are you sure?"

"No, it's some other woman who wears eye-searing green and likes to whack pets when things are slow."

"Did you talk to Chase? Did she notice you?"

"No and no. Or at least, I don't think so. Do you think her growling at me counts?"

"House!"

"Fine, no she didn't. I'm not a rock star, known for my face or anything, Wilson. I am the very soul of discretion."

"Right, discretion--like the time you thought doing a killer clown ruse was a good idea."

"Hey, it worked!"

Wilson sighs. "Yes, but the point is that my idea was less obvious."

"It was boring."

"We almost got caught. My plan didn't even have the slightest risk of that."

"It did too."

This is beginning to have the familiar comfort of one of their old arguments, so Wilson decides that they need to move on. Gilmar being in town could really be a problem.

"H W Contractors. How can I help you?" Chase's voice is so syrupy sweet that Wilson wants to gag.

"Chase, can you run down some information?"

"Yes, boss."

"I need to know everybody who's in town right now."

"Alright. I'll call you back." He hangs up without a goodbye and Wilson wonders if it's a personal thing for him or he's just picked that quirk up from House.

House sighs and leans back in the bed. "You'll never guess who I met today."

"Go on. Don't leave me in suspense."

"Aren't you going to guess?"

"Um... how 'bout no?"

"Spoil sport."

"Volakis?"

House throws up his hands theatrically. "You suck. No!"

"Well, I don't know. I'm not psychic, you know."

"You win draws all the time."

"That's pure chance and you agreed to stop trying to act like a flake, so just tell me who you saw."

"Jeeze, fine. You're sure grumpy tonight."

"Sorry. It wasn't a good day. The office and the club don't look promising, so it's going to have to be the island."

"Ah."

"And it's all a freebie, so I can't even charge extra."

"Poor you, how will you ever retire now?"

"Easy for you to say. Now go back and tell me who you met."

"Lisa Cuddy. An old fling from an assignment. When I was still with the Company and didn't know of your wonderfulness."

"Lisa Cuddy?"

"Yes. Why are you gaping like a fish?"

"I'm not gaping."

"You are. And you're avoiding the question."

"I'm not and I know her."

"How?"

"We hooked up when I was doing a job."

"Really. My Lisa Cuddy and you know her?" House marvels.

"Yep. Slim with dark hair and a tattoo under her left breast?"

"Obviously, she got the tattoo after I knew her. Damn. You crossed paths with her too today, Wilson?"

He nods. "We're meeting up tonight."

"You're the reason she couldn't do me tonight! You cockblocker."

"I can't cockblock you. I didn't even know you knew her."

"Minor detail." House dismisses it with a flick of his fingers. "Now, you can help me get together and plan for a threesome."

"How do you know she even wants you now?"

"Everybody wants me."

"Right, you're a sex god. How could I forget?"

House sticks his tongue out at Wilson. "You just wish it was you."

"Because I have such a hard time getting laid."

"You said it, not me."

House throws a pillow at him and he whacks it back. He's missed this more playful side of House. It's good to see that House hasn't completely lost it, only buried it, and Wilson resolves to try and dig it back out into the open. He tosses the pillows back at House as though they're both thirteen-year-old girls.

As a result, he has to answer his phone slightly out of breath.

Chase makes an embarrassed tsking noise. "I didn't um...interrupt anything, did I?"

"Nah. So what do you have?"

"Gilmar is definitely in town and probably planning to go after House's job."

"What is House's job?"

"He said not to tell you, Boss."

"I say you need to tell me."

"House said no and, quite frankly, he's scarier than you about stuff like this. So couldn't you please just get it out of him yourself? You're always doing that with other stuff."

"Fine, Chase, but you aren't off the hook for not telling me. Any agents?"

"Yeah, two definitely confirmed. Same ones who were tailing you before--Cameron and Foreman. You sure must have gotten on their radar somehow. I'm still not pulling up much on them other than the fact Cameron is really pushing to get you for the good of society."

"Great."

"Yeah."

"So how is the project?"

"Just about finished. I'm going to tranq the dog like you said and then take out the master. You know if they aren't found soon the dog might try be forced to eat the body."

"I'm sure they'll be found soon enough. You do realize that the point is for you to be long gone before anyone even worries about finding them."

"Yeah, I know."

"Alright. When do you put your plan in motion?"

"I'm going out tomorrow."

"Good luck and safe trip. House wants to talk to you. Hang on."

Wilson passes the phone to House who stops gesticulating wildly.

"Hey, Chase. You make us proud, all right? Next solo you can have somebody without pets, too."

"Thanks, House."


	3. Chapter 3

Cuddy is still wearing her severely tailored suit when she arrives at _Lenny's_. Her dark hair is loose and curling around her shoulders. Wilson wonders what she was doing that merited working so late at night. He doubts it was with Winston but if it was...No, better not to pursue that line of thinking. It will only lead to frustration. She orders a Long Island iced tea and leans back against the cushions.

"I ran into another old acquaintance today, you know. Seems like old home week." Cuddy grins.

"Oh?"

"He's fun, but very focused on sex." She snickers. "We met up in Baltimore when he was working at being a journalist."

"Working at being a journalist?"

"He was writing stories about Bat Boy for the _Word Weekly News_ , not real journalism."

"I see."

"But enough about him. I shouldn't bore you with a stranger's details."

Wilson shrugs. "So tell me about what you've been doing."

Cuddy sips her drink and Wilson knows that she's trying to decide how much to let tell him. He likes seeing that sort of caution. He's learned long ago not to trust people who are too open with information. It's just good business.

"I handle the corporate law side of the business for Winston and he sends me around the word to fix his deals. It's pretty dull, really, just a lot of paperwork. You'd know that, though, wouldn't you? Being a lawyer and all?"

"Sure."

Cuddy leans forward. "Sometimes I wonder what happened to the girl who wanted adventures. I tell you, practicing law is really not the adventure I thought it would be."

They end up having dinner at _Lenny's_ and Wilson discovers that Cuddy's developed a taste for heavily-spiced jerk chicken. He wonders when that happened. She laughs at his jokes and touches his hand occasionally. He's pretty sure that he could get her to sleep with him without too much effort. He wonders what House would think if he fucked her without trying to reach House's threesome goal. It wouldn't be the first time that one of them has taken a woman to bed, but it would be the first time they both knew her.

Cuddy tells him about her parents dying in a plane crash and the problems she had deciding between burial and cremation. He makes the appropriate sympathetic noises and wonders if Cuddy's had her tattoo removed. He tells her about some of his trips--editing heavily to leave out the fact that he was actually killing people on those trips. Cuddy has an ex-fiancé behind her. Wilson looks rightfully appalled that any man would think that Cuddy would allow herself to be tied down.

She thrusts her fork forcefully through her chicken. "He wanted me to stay home and be a wife and mother. Honestly, I don't know how I missed the fact that he was stuck in the fifties."

"They say love is blind."

"Stupid too." Cuddy shivers. "I'm glad I got out of that before things got any more serious."

"Engagement isn't serious?"

"Not as serious as marriage."

"True."

They end up wandering down by the waterfront, telling each other tales that are more than half lies about long-ago people. It's only because they happen to be passing a tree that they survive the first shot.

Wilson drops to the ground, pulling a startled Cuddy with him. He pulls them back into the tree's shadow and waits for the next bullet to hit.

"What the fuck is going on?" Cuddy hisses at him.

"I'll explain later. For now just trust me."

Cuddy goes still beside him as he slides his pistol out of the holster. It makes him feel better to have it ready. The second shot kicks up chunks of dirt and Wilson decides that their shooter must be to his right. He presses back against the tree and peers into the twilight. He can tell that the shooter is using a silencer.

He has to wonder what he's done to deserve this sort of headache when all he was doing was trying to have a nice time, although he could understand if it was another person in the trade. He knows that he'd looked vulnerable and unaware walking with one arm slung around Cuddy's waist. Beside him, Cuddy is tense, but quiet except for the puff of her breath. Wilson is rather proud that she is not having a panic attack at the idea of being shot at. Obviously, the same strength she used to have is still around, just hidden better than it was all those years ago.

He takes careful aim at where he thinks the shooter is and fires. His gun is not the loudest out there, but it's definitely louder than the silenced rifle he knows the sniper has to be using. Another shot hits just to the right of his foot and he hears Cuddy gasp. They need to get out of here. He pulls Cuddy close to him and murmurs into her ear.

"Stay here and don't move. I'll be back."

He feels her nod and slides away. He's thankful that House went on one of his anti-white crusades and only brought dark shirts for him to wear. It makes moving around undetected so much easier. He belly crawls around until he can see the dark shape of the shooter. He takes careful aim and fires. The shooter cries out sharply. The tone is high enough that Wilson is positive it's a woman.

He closes the distance between them quickly and wrenches the rifle out of the shooter's hands. He pulls a small hand flashlight from his pocket and shines it into the shooter's face. Underneath him he can feel the shooter's body writhing and bucking in an effort to throw him off. Illuminated by the light is Petra Gilmar. She glares up at Wilson.

"How the hell did you do that?"

"Pets must be making you soft, Gilmar."

"They did not."

"I got you. Who contracted you?"

"I don't have a clue and, besides, it wasn't for you. It was for the woman."

"Why?"

"How the fuck should I know that?"

It's a valid point and he nods, acknowledging it. "I though it was worth a try."

Gilmar uses his distraction to twist her body so that she can forcefully unseat him. Her fist hits his check and the flashlight drops from his grasp as he tries to block her fists. They roll together, punching and wrestling. Wilson slams is palm into Gilmar's nose and feels the sticky warmth of her blood coat his palm. She yelps and curses him as she slams her head into his face. He sees stars and she rolls away.

Wilson pushes himself to his feet and takes a steadying breath. Cuddy has not moved, he's sure of that, and he can hear Gilmar moving away from him. He looks up at the darkening sky and wonders about just lying where he is for a bit. Nothing pressing is happening to make him move...

Oh shit, no! Cuddy is out there and Gilmar is gone. He knows she wouldn't leave the field without a kill. She has to be going back for Cuddy. He forces himself to move quickly but silently as he traces his steps back towards the tree that he left Cuddy huddled against.

He sees Gilmar stand and lift her rifle to her shoulder. He's going to be too late. He aims and fires. The bullet catches Gilmar in her lower back and she crumples to the ground.

Wilson moves forward cautiously. He doesn't want her trying to kill him now. As soon as he gets a good angle he takes it. He pulls the trigger and watches as the side of Gilmar's head is torn open at the bullet's exit point.

He hears a startled gasp and looks over to see Cuddy looking between him and Gilmar's corpse.

"So I take it you aren't a lawyer?" Cuddy's voice is surprisingly steady.

"Would you believe I'm a negotiation specialist?"

"No. What the hell is going on? You don't just kill people!" Cuddy's voice is rising and Wilson is starting to worry that she's going to have a break down. This is definitely not the place for it. He still needs to get rid of Gilmar's body and make sure Cuddy isn't going to run straight to the police. That would be so inconvenient.

How did everything go bad so quickly? Wilson had been having such a good time and he's positive that if things had progressed just a bit longer he would have been enjoying Cuddy's body back at the hotel. Things like this never happen to House.

"Look. It was self-defense, right?"

Cuddy looks between him and the corpse. Wilson's glad it's dark enough that she won't be able to see the blood's full bright red color as it oozes from the bullet holes and Gilmar's ruined nose. People can get so squeamish about those sorts of things. He tucks his gun back into the holster, thinking that if Cuddy doesn't have to look at it she might calm a little bit.

He can hear her taking deep breaths. That's good. That's fucking wonderful. Now, what to do about the body?

"Normal people don't just go around shooting people." Cuddy sounds hyper-calm, as though she's sure that he's not quite right.

"Well, true, but I swear to you it was going to be you or her."

"Me?"

"She was coming back for you. I know she wasn't hunting me. My sources are impeccable and I know there's no contract out for me."

"Contract? Are you saying that you're like a...You know."

Wilson shrugs. "Yeah, you could say that. We prefer Expeditor or Tactical Strike Soloist."

"A Tactical Strike Soloist?"

"Well, assassin just sounds so negative."

"You kill people for money. How is that positive?"

"Well, they usually deserve it."

"They deserve it? What did I do to deserve it?"

"I don't know that. I didn't even know you had a contract out on you."

Cuddy laughs softly. "I guess I am a lawyer."

"Dickens did say that if there were no bad people there would be no good lawyers. Just think of me as part of the reason you're in business."

Cuddy seems to have calmed down somewhat so he goes over to get a better look at Gilmar's corpse. He shines his flashlight down her body. She is wearing a dark hoodie and black jeans. Obviously, somebody clued her in that wearing skin-tight black body suits was a bad idea--too conspicuous. That is rather a shame. She had been good looking in that sort of outfit. He's sure that Cuddy would have been more kindly disposed to believing him if she has been able to see Gilmar in that bodysuit. He hears Cuddy walk up beside him.

"She really wanted to kill me?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, fuck. How am I going to explain that to the police?"

"Well, I'd rather you didn't."

"Is that your polite way to telling me over my dead body?" Her voice shakes a little bit and Wilson regrets that he's responsible for that. He doesn't like scaring people unnecessarily.

"I'm not going to kill you, but it would make my life very inconvenient if you did that. It could make your life a bit...messy."

"Telling the police that I was saved from an assassin by another assassin and that somebody's hiring people to kill me would leave my life a little bit messy?"

Wilson does his best to look sympathetic. "Well, first the FBI would get involved and want to know everything about me. Then they might want to put you in protective custody or even witness protection because you've seen me do that." He nods at Gilmar's corpse. "And you know protective custody would mean that you'd have to give up everything in your life. On the other hand, you could just ignore this."

"Right. And turn myself into a sitting duck. I don't think so, James."

"I could protect you. These things usually blow over fairly quickly unless the mark is major league money."

"Great." Cuddy sounds irritated and Wilson would grin if he didn't think it would lead to Cuddy getting annoyed with him. It shouldn't take Chase very long to figure out who put the contract out on her and after he has that information he can figure out what will work best for him and keep her alive at the same time. Or at least get her into a better position for disposal if she turns out to be troublesome.

"So you'll keep me safe?"

"I'll do my best. One of my associates can get the information on who contracted for your hit. After that we can figure out what to do."

"You mean figure out what's best for you, right?"

Wilson bows. "True, but in a way that keeps you among the living, hopefully. Now you can either go back home or you can help me get rid of this body."

Cuddy sighs. "I thought you were keeping me safe?"

"Nobody else will be gunning for you right this instant."

Cuddy stares at him for a long moment before slinging her purse bandolier style across her chest. "All right. What do you need me to do?"

"Do you have access to a boat?"

* * *

Three hours later, after Gilmar's body has been dropped into deep water far off the coast, they're driving back to the Bay Water.

Cuddy's hands are shaking, but other than that she's remarkably steady. If she was looking for a change of profession Wilson thinks she'd make a good expeditor. They've had trainees in the past who haven't handled their first kills and disposals with as much aplomb.

He guides her through the hotel with one arm circling her waist. He can feel her body heat through his shirt. It reminds him of House and the way his body is always warm. He really hopes House isn't waiting for him. That could make things awkward. They need to bring House in gently. And having him lounging around on Wilson's bed is not the way to go.

He says a fervent prayer for House to be far away as the elevator arrives at the right floor. He could phone, but long experience has let him know that asking House questions will only get him curious enough to show up if he isn't there already. Wilson breathes a sigh of relief when he opens the door to find the room empty. Cuddy looks at the single bed and back at him.

"So is this where you pull out the life-affirming sex?"

"Only if you want."

She shakes her head. "Are you always such a gentleman killer?"

Wilson shuts the door and hopes that nobody heard that remark. It could be misinterpreted but not particularly easily. If Cuddy's going to be around he's going to need to remind her to keep things--especially his profession--closer to her vest.

Cuddy tosses her coat into a chair and turns to him. She looks pale and determined as she stalks over to him. She's close enough for her skirt to brush against his pants as she stands on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. Her lips are soft and he can taste cinnamon lipgloss. He bends a little so she can go down from her toes and presses his tongue against her lips, seeking permission to go farther.

Cuddy's mouth opens and her tongue slips against his. She presses against him and he knows that she can feel him growing hard. Her hips shift slightly as she rubs against his growing erection. He slides one hand into her hair and cups her ass with the other one. He presses harder against her. She moans into their kiss and tugs his shirt from his pants. He feels Cuddy's hand stroke up his torso until she can tweak his nipple.

She pulls away from him to look at his face. He doesn't know what she's looking for, but she must see it in him because she relaxes slightly and tugs her shirt off. He starts unbuttoning his own as she kicks her shoes off. Her breasts jiggle in the cups of her bra. It's the same startling bright violet colour that he remembers her favouring all those years ago.

She helps him push his shirt off and the black lace accents of her bra rasp against his chest. He traces along one cup and slips his hand back so he can unhook her bra. Cuddy tosses the bra away and stares at him. He pulls her close and slides one hand up to cup her breast, roll her nipple between his fingers as he bends to kiss her again. Her tongue slips into his mouth, strokes against his upper pallet and flicks back out to lick at his lower lip.

He fumbles one-handed with the tiny hook on her skirt and she reaches back to help him with it. Her breast is warm and heavy in his other hand. Together, they get the hook open and he slides the zipper down. Cuddy shimmies her hips and the skirt slides down to pool around her feet. She is already reaching for the fastenings of his pants as he shifts to toe off his shoes. Her hands are deft and quick with the button and zipper. His belt thumps onto the floor as she whips it from the belt loops. Cuddy is kissing across his collarbone as he hooks his fingers into her matching panties. He kisses her again and rolls her panties over her hips and down her legs. He ends up on his knees before her.

She lifts one foot then the other so he can toss her underwear away. He keeps his eyes locked on hers as he does so and she smiles at him. He kisses the satiny skin of her calf, kisses up her legs until his lips are caressing over her hip bones. He can smell her arousal and feel the muscles of her thigh quiver under the lick of his tongue. Cuddy gasps softly when he presses a kiss against her pussy. He pushes her backward, following on his knees until she falls back onto the bed. Her legs dangle off, falling open to create the perfect cradle for him. He kisses his way up one thigh, across her public bone and down the other thigh to the sensitive skin behind her knee. She writhes when he gently licks and nips at the skin.

"Please."

He kisses his way back to her pussy, already slick and wet. He uses his tongue to part her until he can lick and suck gently at her clit, slide his tongue into her as she gasps and clutches at the coverlet.

Wilson is mildly surprised that she doesn't grab at his hair. He's so used to House doing that, used to the mild pain as House tugs at his hair, that it feels strange not to have it.

He slides one finger into her, pumps it gently in and out. Sliding on his saliva and her moisture. Above him, Cuddy whimpers. He nips lightly at her outer lips and licks slowly along her slit, slides his tongue into her alongside his finger as his thumb presses and rubs against her clit. He can feel her tensing around him as he presses another finger into her. Her hips thrust upwards as he pumps his fingers into her wet pussy.

As she moans and twists from his ministrations he's reminded again of how different doing this for a woman is than for House. There's no cock invading his mouth until he has to relax and focus on not gagging as he works his mouth around it. It's a rather nice change, he thinks. He licks and sucks at her, uses his fingers until she orgasms for him.

"Tell me you've got a condom." She's breathless and grabbing at his shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Thank Christ. Now would you fuck me already?"

He hurries to comply and there's only a momentary hesitation when he finds that House has left a stack of cherry flavoured condoms on top of his stash. Cuddy whines and sits up to help him with the package. He waves her away and quickly sheaths his cock in the bright pink latex. He slides into Cuddy's body, feels her stretch to accommodate him. He knows that he's not going to last long and Cuddy is pushing at him, making him roll them so that she's astride him, riding him with her head thrown back and her breasts bouncing. He can see the black tattoo on the underside of her left breast and reaches up to run his fingers over it. Cuddy's hand slides between her legs and she strokes her clit while he thrusts up into her.

"I'm going to..."

"Do it, do it."

After, they lay sticky and spent side by side. Cuddy stretches against him.

"That really was life-affirming."

"I didn't expect that to happen," Wilson says.

She laughs, languid and easy. "It was good, though."

He shifts enough to kiss quickly against her mouth. She's pulling him in for a longer kiss when the door opens.

House slams it shut behind him.

"Jimmy! You're cheating on me!"

Cuddy rolls away from Wilson, pulling the sheet out to cover herself. "What the hell is going on, James?"

"House is exaggerating."

House shakes his head sorrowfully. "He's such a slut."

Cuddy looks a bit green and glances quickly at the empty condom wrapper as though to assure herself they were safe.

"I'm not really," Wilson protests. "And we were safe Lisa."

"Condoms are for girls," House interjects and Wilson is struck by how random that is. He wonders what House thinks it will accomplish.

"That doesn't even make sense, House."

"Wait, wait. You two know each other?"

"We've only been together forever."

Wilson can see that Cuddy is starting to get annoyed. House managing to look hurt and resigned at the same time is not helping matters at all.

"House, be quiet. Lisa, it's not what it looks like..."

"You aren't together?"

"Yes." At her scowl he hurries on in order to stop the protest he knows is coming. "We're open. It's all right."

"This is some sort of game for you?"

"No, no. House was not supposed to show up tonight."

"Oh? Is it his night tomorrow? Thanks so much for informing me." Her voice is laced with disgust.

"We weren't doing anything like that."

Cuddy huffs and House cuts her off. "We really wanted a threesome. Everyone should have one before they die, you know. And I finally talked Wilson into it."

"Before they die?"

House waves airily. "Absolutely."

Cuddy rounds on Wilson. "House is one of you?"

"We aren't pod people."

"She means an expeditor, House."

"Oh, well, of course I am. There. Now you know and I have to kill you. So what do you say to a goodbye threesome?"

"She already has a contract out on her, House." Sometimes Wilson really wishes that House had a little bit more tact.

"Oh, well." House brightens. "The offer still stands and I happen to have that contract so what d'you say? I'll let you be in the middle first."

"She's your hit?" Wilson asks at the same time Cuddy is scrambling over the bed away from House. As if that would stop him.

"Oh, relax, I'm not going to off you," House tells Cuddy before he leers at her. "Especially not when I haven't gotten my threesome."

"You really are just as focused as the last time we were together," Cuddy growls at House, crossing her arms so that her breasts are pressed together. House watches the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"Come on, Lisa. Take a shower and we'll work this out in a better setting." Wilson says even though he never takes his eye off House.

House snorts. Cuddy glares at him and brushes past on her way to the bathroom. House turns to watch the gentle sway of her hips.

"She's your hit?"

"Well, duh."

"Are you planning to take it? Because I'd rather you waited a bit."

House shrugs. "Not now. I haven't had my threesome yet."

"House, be serious."

"I am. Besides, it's too easy."

"You do realize that you'll have to do something about this. You did take the contract after all." He pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off an oncoming headache.

"You worry too much. I'll do something about it later. After I tap that fine ass."

"Can you focus on the consequences for once?"

House pulls out a sucker and does not respond.

"You never intended to do it," Wilson realizes

House shrugs. "And rid the world of an ass like that?"

Wilson knows that he is going to have to deal with this because if House is having trouble with going back into the field things are much more serious than he thought. He'd thought House was better, thought that he had recovered as much as he could from _that_ but if he can't fill a contract...House smacks him on the shoulder.

"Relax, I just didn't want her to get offed." He wiggles his eyebrows. "At least not until I had one last chance at tapping her."

"House."

House waves his sucker at him like a parody of a sword, "Next time you can supervise and we'll do one together."

Wilson refrains from saying anything but he knows that House has picked up his scepticism on that promising actually holding up when he grins.

"We'll do it for our anniversary. It'll be so romantic. I promise."

He pulls at Wilson's arm until he moves closer then kisses him with sticky lips that taste like artificial grapes. Wilson knows that sometime in the future he is going to have to make sure that House really can follow through but right now he'll go with the flow. They still have Winston to off and that has to take precedence. He can get House to help. It'll be good to ease him back into things a little more slowly. He is already re-planning his set up as he leans more into the kiss.

* * *

Agent Allison Cameron tosses her cold coffee into the garbage and glares at the window of the room belonging to their target. James Wilson appears to be keeping up his habit of picking up a woman for some fun on the job. She grimaces in distaste. Those poor duped women. She remembers how smooth Wilson could be, remembers how good he was at keeping to his cover stories. She will never tell Foreman that she might once have been a little bit in love with him. An agent never admits to emotional involvement.

She readjusts the scope so that the silhouettes on the curtains swim into sharper focus. She shifts slightly to smooth out the cloth bunched up under her hip. Foreman's voice crackles in her earpiece.

"A man just came in."

That's interesting. He already has a woman with him. There's nothing in his file about bisexuality, but Cameron wouldn't put it past him. James Wilson is too ambitious to allow something like gender to stop his goals, although this doesn't seem to be part of the job...

Cameron wishes that she wasn't lying prone, squinting at the flickering silhouettes of people and waiting to catch Wilson actually killing somebody. This is nowhere near the glamorous job the recruiter had painted for her. She wonders if Foreman has the same thoughts. Better not to ask and risk unwanted attention.

The men are kissing now. The woman has disappeared into the bathroom. She watches as their bodies shift and merge into one large dark mass. They break apart and the taller one, the one who is not Wilson, waves his arm sharply towards the bathroom. She wishes the bugs were installed so she could hear their argument. Instead, she has to content herself with watching it play out silently. The woman re-emerges and the argument continues.

"It's Gregory House. That's the man."

Foreman sounds excited even through the static-riddled ear jack. She doesn't blame him. Gregory House is supposed to be dead. But here he is alive and in James Wilson's hotel room. This is big.

House was at the top when he disappeared. She wishes the curtains would pull back so she can really see what Gregory House looks like. She has only seen him in grainy surveillance photos; black and whites that don't show the exact shade of his hair or the colour of his eyes. She's always been a little sceptical when reading reports from other (older) field agents about the mysterious pull of House's blue eyes. Cameron wants to see them for herself.

"He's supposed to be dead," she tells Foreman.

"I know, but it's him."

"Who is the woman?"

"Still working on that, but she's definitely local."

Cameron sees the silhouettes moving about. House bends and it looks like he kisses the woman. She feels like a voyeur as she watches the three silhouettes merge and shift.

* * *

Cuddy shifts slowly as sunlight brightens up the room. Beside her, House mumbles and buries his face in the pillow. She can feel Wilson's hand slung over her hips. He's sleeping against her side and she feels warm and a little squashed. House's hand is tangled with Wilson's, both of them lying heavy on her stomach.

It feels surreal to wake up between two assassins who spent last night demonstrating exactly what she'd been missing by not having a threesome sooner. Her body feels slightly sore and there's a tender bruise bite just under her breast next to the tattoo.

She wiggles a bit and Wilson's brown eyes open immediately. He looks at her intently and she smiles wanting to let him know that she's not freaking out. Somebody is trying to kill her--waking up between two men who she only knows from many years ago just does not seem all that worrisome in comparison. Wilson presses a gentle kiss to her shoulder and slides out of the bed. She follows him and as soon as they're out of the bed House moans and flings himself out, spreading out so that he's taking up all the space. She finds it amazing that he can sprawl so widely after being so compact about sleeping the rest of the night. The stumps of his missing fingers are lying in a patch of sunlight.

"What happened?" she asks, nodding at House's mangled hand. Wilson frowns and nods towards the bathroom.

"I'm going to have a shower. Join me?"

Cuddy is not stupid, she figures that whatever Wilson is going to tell her he doesn't want the chance of being overheard. She waits patiently until they're both in the shower. Wilson's shoulders are tense and he turns away from her ostensibly to retrieve a bottle of shower gel.

"The last time he was out things went wrong. Really, really wrong. They caught him and it was bad, Lisa." He presses his lips together until they turn thin and white.

She takes the lathered puff he offers and runs it over his shoulder, feeling the harp-wire-tight muscles cording there.

"I got him out, but I wasn't fast enough. They'd already...Well, you saw."

She can hear the self-loathing in his voice and wonders what he's leaving out, what part he cannot or will not tell her. She's suddenly sorry that she asked, sorry she dragged up this bitter pain in his voice. She presses against the knot of muscles in his left shoulder in mute apology. Press and stroke to work out the kinks, easy repetitive motions, with the slip of the puff over his skin filling the silence between them. Wilson sighs and lets his head fall forward as she works the tension out of his body.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "I know there wasn't anything to do different but it was still...It wasn't supposed to be that way."

"He's alive. You have to count that for something." It sounds trite even as she says it and she wishes she could strike the statement from the record.

He turns and grabs her, pushes her against the shower wall and kisses her roughly. She can taste the familiar tang of chlorine in the water as it mingles between their mouths.

* * *

House is lounging around in bed, looking for all the world as if he'd always belonged there. He's tossing his cell phone from hand to hand and looking smug.

"Chase found the originator."

"Of what?" Cuddy asks.

"The contract on your pretty head."

"House, you're killing me with the suspense," Wilson says. He waves the room service menu at them. "Bacon and eggs?"

"Already ordered. Drum roll, please. The originator is none other than Charles Taylor Winston."

"My boss hired people to kill me?"

Cuddy can't quite believe what she's hearing. It's all too strange. She's been a good employee, done everything possible even when it meant covering up for him, covering up the chemical spills, working the loopholes to get his company out of fines and convictions for health violations and shoddy workmanship. She hadn't said anything when this latest action had put them into a good working relationship with one of the largest drug importers in the United States.

She doesn't deserve to be killed. Not when she hasn't even gone to anyone with what she knows, even though she's thought about it more than once.

Sometimes seeing the aftermath of a messy deal that she's going to be cleaning up for Winston has made her sick. She can remember going over the case files of workers who ended up getting poisoned when out-of-date sensors hadn't picked up the toxic air in time. She'd done some impressive legal jumping to get them grandfathered in and get Winston out of the fines and the attention of the press. She hadn't gone to anybody when the pictures of the victims with faces twisted into a rictus of pain had put her off eating.

She'd been a quiet accomplice and now he wanted her dead. Her anger is a slow burn in her stomach. She's nothing but expendable, even after everything she's done.

"My mark wants her dead?"

"You're going to kill my boss?"

"That's the plan." House sounds unduly pleased by the notion.

"My boss wants me dead. That fucker. I haven't done anything to hurt him and I could have. I've thought about it, but I didn't do it because I was loyal."

Wilson shrugs. "Sometimes a suspicion is all it takes to make somebody take out a contract."

"Can I help?" Cuddy asks.

"You go straight to murderous rage, don't you?" House sounds a little bit amused.

"Well, what would you do if your boss, whose ass you'd been dutifully covering, decided to kill you?"

"I went freelance." Wilson points out and goes to answer the door for room service.

He discards the center arrangement out of habit. It is too easy to plant a bug in. He wheels the cart through the door.

"Bring it over, Wilson."

He is long used to House's demands and it's comforting that even in the middle of the biggest screw up since _that one_ , House is still true to form.

Cuddy is sitting primly in a chair, even though she's still only wrapped in a robe. Her hair is dark and wet around her shoulders.

Wilson distributes the plates, wheels the cart into the bathroom and shuts the door after turning on the water.

"Is this normal?"

House shrugs. "It's a good precaution. Here, Wilson. Catch." He throws a strawberry at Wilson. Cuddy laughs.

"So can I help?"

"Maybe."

Why did he say that? Civilians are never a good idea. He knows better, but he remembers Cuddy and she's still solid. She held it together with Gilmar and that earns her points. He knows that he's good at judging people and, besides, an extra pair of hands would make things easier. Plus, they do need to keep Cuddy close.

* * *

"They caught the bugs." Foreman tells Cameron.

"Great. And we still don't know what they're doing here."

"We know the woman, though--that has to be a step in the right direction."

"They're going to slip us again, aren't they?"

"Don't be a pessimist."

"I'm a realist. Besides, I put a tracer on the car."

Foreman checks their surveillance camera that is pointed at the hotel room door. They watch in silence as the three people exit the room. Cuddy's lips look swollen and Cameron can see a hickey peaking out of Wilson's collar.

Foreman crunches into an apple then double-checks the camera. "Oh, fuck."

"What now?"

"They aren't taking the right car."

"I thought you did them all."

"I didn't know that she had a car here, now did I?"

Cameron sighs and picks up her keys. "I guess we get to tail them again."

"Great. I'll get to watch you lose them again."

* * *

Cuddy calls in sick to work and spends the day with House and Wilson. They assure her (mainly Wilson because House is too busy rearranging the fruit into something artistic and obscene) that taking the day off is just fine even if she is planning to help murder her boss in a few hours. They bicker like an old married couple all through breakfast and she can believe House's assertion that they've been together forever. Neither of them will tell her if they were together when she met them before. She thinks that they must have been; they're too in tune with each other not to have been together (in some capacity) for a long time. She keeps expecting them to finish each other's sentences, but they're creepier than that (of course they are), answering each other before anything can be said.

As soon as they're in the car, with Wilson driving, House shoves in a tape that seems to be nothing but many people reciting various words. Cuddy listens intently, but there's no coherence to the words. It reminds her of listening to a party through a wall: all words and voices without anything to distinguish them from each other.

House winks and turns it up a little louder. Cuddy figures that it must be more of their necessary precautions. Wilson suddenly swears and makes a sharp right turn.

"They're back."

"Who?"

Wilson sighs, more in exasperation than anything else. "A couple of agents."

"As in FBI agents?"

"Yeah, Jimmy has a pack of admirers."

"I thought you were good at flying under the radar?"

"I am. Some people are just persistent."

"Wilson hooked up with one of them by accident." House winks at her. "Told you he was a bit of a slut."

Cuddy doesn't know what to say to that. She watches Wilson drive apparently aimlessly. He asks for directions occasionally and she knows that this is not an unusual occurrence for him.

House makes occasional comments about his poor driving, but has to stop when his phone rings. He ends up talking to somebody he addresses only as Kowari and starts laughing at something about a dog who is more than man's best friend. Wilson glances over.

"Is he ready?"

"Yeah, our baby is going solo tonight."

Wilson nods. "Good."

"You have a child?"

"Just ignore him. Cuddy, you sure you want to do this? Sure you want to get your hands dirty?"

She nods and Wilson meets her eyes in the mirror. "Last chance. After this you can't go back."

She shrugs. "I already helped you last night."

House covers the phone's mouthpiece. "She's already a lawyer for Christ sake, Wilson."

"Lawyers uphold the law, House." She makes her eyes as big and innocent as she can. His bark of laughter surprises them all.

Wilson cuts the corner tight and she has to brace herself against the centrifugal force. They end up tucked into a parkade between two hummers.

Wilson shifts slightly and pulls out a small black box with a switch and LED light mounted on it. He motions for them to be quiet as he runs the box over the interior of the car, then steps out and does the same thing. They wait in silence except for the tape's babble until Wilson slams the car door shut. He flicks the tape off and nods to House.

"We're going to do it tonight at his house and you get to help. All right, Lisa?"

Wilson's eyes look a little bit nervous but she nods, excited and just a little scared. They're talking murder here, they could end up going away for life, but somehow that doesn't scare her like it should. She knows that she should be horrified by this, but somehow her horror died between disposing of Gilmar and finding out that her loyalty was going to be rewarded with a bullet. She really hopes that getting rid of Winston will cancel the contract.

Wilson explains the reasons for picking Winston's home and she has to agree with them, although she can't tell them why the office building has gone through such an intense security increase of late. She just doesn't know. Wilson looks a little worried, but tells her that it's not a big issue. She wishes that she could believe him. She's too used to making sure everything is ordered exactly right, too used to triple-checking down to the commas to stop worrying about it no matter what Wilson says.

"I'm going to take a zodiac to the island, then let it float out to sea. One of you is going to pick me up in another boat while the other watches on land and waits with the car. House is going to watch because he knows what to look for and you get to wait with the boat."

He looks intently at Cuddy. "This is really important. Can you do this?"

"Of course. I'm only picking you up. It's not like you're asking me to strangle him in his sleep."

House grins but doesn't say anything. His good hand massages the leg that gives him his limp. Wilson taps one finger against his lips and starts nibbling gently at his thumb. Cuddy watches a bag blowing through the parkade.

* * *

That night Wilson slips out of the hotel using a service entrance. He's wearing dark jeans and a hoodie. Cuddy knows that he's going to toss the clothes as soon as he gets the zodiac beyond the harbour lights.

She spends the evening at home, not doing much of anything aside from watching the television, even though she cannot even concentrate on reruns of _General Hospital_ \--House had explained earlier in the day that it was the best thing to watch on down time--Wilson had snorted and shaken his head at that.

Cuddy's not sure that it really applies right now but she guesses House would know. On the flickering screen, Laura has fallen into a life-threatening coma while Luke is professing something to her--probably his undying love--yet again. Cuddy misses the climax of Luke's heartfelt monologue because her watch beeps startling. It's time to go.

She pulls on a heavy fleece-lined windbreaker and heads for the marina. It's time to take the cruiser out, to wait patiently for Wilson and hope like hell that she doesn't get arrested.

She laughs to herself at the idea that those long ago summers spent with her parents on the water would ever have led up to her waiting on dark water for a killer to appear. Following their instructions, she doesn't look for House; instead, she only goes to the dark hulk of the cruiser and starts the engines. The dull throb of the powered-up machinery is comforting as she guides the boat into the channel, moves it sleekly forward until she's out of the no-wake zone.

Cuddy opens up the throttle, feels the wind slap against her face and pull at her hair as she goes roaring into the night towards her rendezvous. Her hands are steady on the controls even though she can feel her heart beating so fast she thinks it might explode from her chest. She drops anchor and cuts the engines back to a gentle thrum. Around her, the water slaps against the hull as the throb of the motors dies back. She has to calm down, has to be steadier.

She's thirty-eight and a successful lawyer. She's won cases and faced down some of the toughest prosecutors in the state. She is not going to panic. Not now. She didn't back then and she won't now. She takes deep calming breaths, filling her lungs with the tang of the ocean as she strains to hear the sound of a swimmer coming through the water.

The blue underwater beacon that dangles from the bow of the cruiser looks ghostly in the moonlight. They're professionals, they have to know what they're doing. She isn't going to be caught, disbarred and imprisoned. Still reviewing possible precedents to get herself out of any future mess that might come from this adventure makes her feel calmer.

* * *

Wilson jams the throttle on the zodiac and leaps from it. He hits the cold water and feels it soak through his wet suit. The zodiac leaves a trail of foaming white wake behind it as he swims forward toward the island and his target. The gun in the waterproof case on his back is heavy and he wishes, not for the first time, that this job hadn't gotten so complicated. Why the hell did the idiot have to put in all that security at his office? The pouch holding House's poison is heavy against his hip and he can feel the water drag at it as he moves forward. Wilson climbs up on the rocks. The guard should be within twenty yards. He hears the crackle of a radio, then the guard checking in.

He takes shallow, silent breaths as he strains to hear, to focus on the code, because he knows that he'll have to recite it for a guard at some point. Wilson waits quietly and when the man passes he lunges. He takes him down, arm cutting across his throat, until the guard is unconscious. A quick jab and he's assured of the guard getting at least four hours of sleep.

Wilson pulls his headset off and fixes it to his own ear. The unconscious man is hidden back into the shadows and camouflaged as well as possible. Wilson long ago learned the value of making his work hard to detect. He listens to the guards reporting in as he makes his way steadily towards the house.

Charles Taylor Winston sleeps on his back with both arms flung over his head. Tucked under his armpit is a small blonde woman. Fuck. He was supposed to be alone. Wilson works quickly and quietly, glancing every so often at the woman to make sure that she's not stirring. He quietly thanks whatever deity watches out for assassins that Winston snores loud enough to wake the dead. Wilson's heard quieter buzz saws. The woman has to be used to it if she's sleeping so easily.

He withdraws the poison from his pouch and slides a hypodermic needle into the rubber stopper lid. A bullet would have been fasted but this will leave less trace and that's what the contract calls for. He pulls out the dosage that House told him to use, glad of the night vision goggles even if they do turn everything green. The needle slides smoothly into Winston's fleshy thigh. Wilson is sure that he's hit the femoral artery.

Winston groans in his sleep and Wilson curses silently as he keeps smoothly depressing the plunger. He checks the level and finds the dose is almost completely transferred into Winston's body. He wishes that he could have used a smaller one but Winston's body mass just won't allow for that. It's only another few seconds. He can do it. Winston is starting to shift and twitch. Fuck. Fuck, no time. Wilson puts out one hand to keep Winston from rolling over and snapping the syringe from his hand. This is bad. He really hopes the man is a heavy sleeper. He should be with that snoring. Winston smacks his lips and lifts one arm up to paw at Wilson's arm. Wilson quickly moves his arm out of the way. He should have used a bigger gauge and damn the consequences later. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the plunger hits bottom and he can pull the needle out.

Wilson hears the code in starting as he slips out the side door and heads toward the beach. Cuddy had better be out there waiting for him or he is screwed.

He checks the compass and growls the fallen guard's code in phrase into the mic. There's a pause, but then the next phrase comes and he breathes a sigh of relief. He throws the headset into the woods and wades into the cold black water. It laps against his calves and he moves forward, no time to stop and get used to the cold. He's glad of the wet suit, but wishes that he had a dry suit even though they are more bulky. Swimming in the dark with only a faint moon for illumination is more dangerous than he would like, but things have to be done and he only has a short distance to go. He can taste salt in his mouth as he takes one last deep breath.

The water slaps against his face as he starts a powerful front crawl toward the spot where Cuddy should be waiting. Stopping only to check the compass strapped to his wrist, he keeps going, keeps looking for the signal. He sees the blue beacon of the cruiser and heads towards it, salt water in his mouth making his tongue slide around his teeth. He can hear the low thrum of the engines as he gets close and he carefully paddles to the side ladder. His fingers are numb from the water, but he climbs up until he can flop onto the deck.

Cuddy's looking nervous and white-faced, but she smiles when she sees him.

"Let's go."

She doesn't waste time, just hurries back to the cockpit as he begins to strip out of the wetsuit. The wind raises goose bumps on his skin as he gets naked, throwing the suit and bag of poisons (now weighted so that it will sink) over the side. He wants nothing on the boat connecting him to an island where there is now a bed with a dead man lying on it.

Wilson makes his way to the cabin, feet so cold he can't really feel it when he stubs his toe on the door jam. The engines are growling and the boat rocking over the waves as he struggles to pull on the jeans and hoodie that have been left out for him. He sticks his hands into his armpits to warm them enough so that his clumsy fingers can tie his shoelaces.

He hears Cuddy shout and runs out to investigate. They're just nosing into the slip in the marina. Two people are waiting for them. Oh, fuck.

Foreman watches the big cruiser slide into the slip. It's a gentle enough docking that he can tell whoever is piloting knows their way around a boat. He ties off the stern line to help prevent the boat from trying to run from them. Beside him, Cameron shifts and pulls her smile into a neutral expression. Now's the time to find out exactly what James Wilson was doing out this late.

Wilson puts his arm around Cuddy's waist. "It's alright. Just let me handle this. House would've warned us if it was anything serious. They're just here to shake us up."

They step off the boat and into the glare of flashlights augmenting the marina's lights. A dark-skinned man and Grace from Italy are standing there. Grace still has her hair brown and Wilson decides that it would be best if he pretended not to recognize her. He smiles at them.

"What can I do for you tonight?"

"FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Cameron and Foreman hold up their badges. The shiny plastic winks in the light and Wilson wonders if they practice making them catch the light just right.

"What are you doing out tonight?"

Wilson loops his arm around Cuddy's waist. "Just a little pleasure cruise." He lets his eyes wander over Cuddy's body. "It went longer than we thought."

Cuddy leans against him in the perfect girlfriend pose. Wilson can tell that Cameron, at least, is getting a little bit frustrated. Foreman steps forward, blocking Cameron, letting her get her control back. They must have been partners for a while to work that out.

Cuddy shifts beside him so that she is pressed more tightly against his side.

"A pleasure cruise? Really?"

"Yes, nothing better than watching a sunset at sea."

"You mind if we take a look on your boat?"

Cuddy stills beside him and he turns to smile at her. "You're the lawyer."

She smiles at the agents but it's really more of a bearing of teeth than anything else. "You have a warrant?"

"You really want that?" Foreman gives them an easy smile.

"Can I see it?"

"I don't have one. Just want to take a look at that beautiful boat of yours."

Cuddy shakes her head. "Come back with a warrant and we'll talk."

The agents sigh and turn as one. This was over way too fast and Wilson knows that nobody has discovered Winston's body yet. They're almost free.

He kisses Cuddy's check and whispers in her ear. "Good work."

They walk quickly towards the spot where House is supposed to meet them. Cuddy wants to run, wants to get away as fast as possible, but Wilson holds her back and she knows that it would look suspicious to run no matter how badly she wants to. She is sure she can feel the two agents watching, feel their eyes crawl over her body. She shivers and climbs into the passenger seat of the car. Wilson slips into the driver's seat.

House is laying down in the backseat so that nobody looking in could see him.

"You didn't say anything."

House shrugs. "They had nothing."

"I know, but a warning would've been nice."

"They might have caught it. You weren't in any real danger."

They drive out of the marina and Cuddy settles back as she feels her body relax. They're good. Behind her, House laughs and sits up. He leans into the front seat and kisses Wilson, then her, even though Wilson protests that he's driving.

"Let's get the hell out of here and celebrate."

* * *

Cameron stares at the car's retreating tail lights feeling like she wants to cry. They lost him again. They jumped the gun and now Wilson knows that they're watching him. Beside her, Foreman's phone rings.

"Foreman...yes, of course...right away."

She looks out at the ocean, wondering what really happened out there. She's sure that they've failed to save another life. The wind is cold against her throat.

"Come on. They want us in Maryland."

"Maryland? What about Wilson? This case?"

Foreman shrugs. He's already walking towards the car. "He's gone. There's supposed to be a new player on the scene. They want us in Maryland to check the kill site."

"What kill site?"

"Some old oil tycoon with a thing for dogs. They're faxing the data to the office right now. Hurry up, Cameron."

She nods and turns away. The fog is rolling in from the ocean, shrouding the boats until they look like ghosts. Foreman holds out his hand.

"Let me drive."

She nods dully and tosses him the keys.

He drives fast and certain, taking the corners sharp and hard. She presses herself back into the seat and wonders how many more deaths she's going to be responsible for. She should've stopped him all those years ago, but she couldn't, not in Italy and not now. She's failed to protect the public. Foreman can't understand that, can't realize how badly she wanted to stop any more blood getting on her hands. If there is ever a next time, she's going to insist on the hotel rooms being wired for video and not just sound when she goes in as a swallow.

* * *

"I did it."

Chase sounds happy and Wilson gives House a thumbs-up. Cuddy looks at him blankly and he wonders if he should fill her in about that. He thinks not, not yet anyway. They need a little more time to make sure that she's not going to bolt.

House turns back to nipping at Cuddy's ear as Wilson listens to Chase recount the details of his job.

"The tranq worked beautifully. He was so taken up with the dog that he didn't even notice me. I got him from behind."

"Excellent. Take a few days; go somewhere warm and we'll contact you for the next meet up, all right?"

"Yes, boss."

House has gotten Cuddy's shirt off and is mouthing along the top of her bra. She looks over at Wilson.

"Are you going to join us?"

"Yeah."

He pulls the hoodie off and moves towards the bed, smoothing his hair back into place as he moves. House is too busy to mock him for it this time because he's in the middle of licking at Cuddy's tattoo. As a victory celebration this looks very promising. Wilson can feel himself growing hard as he watches House flicking open the buttons on Cuddy's pants.

"You always wear this purple?" House asks as he pulls Cuddy's pants off to reveal her underwear.

She laughs. "You know lawyers need to be conservative on the outside."

House laughs and pulls her to him, one hand sliding into her panties as his other plays with her nipples. It does Wilson's heart good to see that he's no longer self-conscious about the stumps of his fingers like he was earlier with Cuddy.

Wilson pulls House away from Cuddy so that he can steal a kiss. House's stubble rasps against his skin as he bites gently along his jaw line and up to his ear so that he can suck on the lobe. Cuddy's hands are undoing his pants, pushing them open. He can feel both her and House touching his cock, their hands so different in size. He can feel the smoothness of Cuddy's skin and the gun calluses on House's. He thrusts into their joined fingers, into the fist they've created with their hands.

* * *

It feels like déjà vu to wake up sandwiched between House and Wilson again. Wilson is watching her. He's propped up against the headboard, staring down at her.

"Are you all right with this?"

"Yeah. I think I am."

"Sure?"

She nods and strokes one hand down House's arm. "I'm sure."

Wilson bends down and kisses her. She wonders what's going to happen to them now that her boss is dead. She isn't going to be sticking around in the little coastal town anymore no matter how close it is to Seattle, especially not if she's still a walking target.

"What about the contract on me?"

Wilson pauses in his exploration of her breast, but it's House who answers.

"It's taken care of. Don't worry."

From the way that Wilson looks at House, Cuddy would bet that he does not know what House did. She wants to know too, but with Wilson's fingers playing with her clit and House reaching over to get at Wilson's nipples it doesn't seem all that pressing. House nips along her jaw until he can whisper in her ear.

"You owe me for that, by the way. Are you going to pay up?"

She gasps as Wilson slips his fingers into her and nods. Today should be a very good day. Now she would much rather concentrate on Wilson's mouth between her thighs while she watches House's fingers sliding into Wilson's hole. After finding out that there's a contract on her life, nothing can be any worse. Here in bed with these two killers she'll be safe and later, after they've sated themselves, they can teach her to keep herself safe. Maybe later she'll talk to them about a change of careers--law is looking rather dull after all this.


End file.
